


One Special Night

by Nicolaruth27



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Christmas, Dementia, F/F, Fluff and Angst, New Year, Valentine's Day, blizzard, snowstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-02-03 09:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12745998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicolaruth27/pseuds/Nicolaruth27
Summary: AU. When a snowstorm hits Holby, two strangers get trapped together for one special night. Fluffy Christmas movie mashup fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I’ve written movie mashup fics before and when I say ‘movie mashup fic,’ what I mean is ‘recycled movie dialogue and a borrowed plot!’ So I’m saying up front, for anyone who has seen the movie, herein lies a vast amount of stuff that is recycled and borrowed and therefore probably familiar. I hope that doesn’t disappoint anyone too much. I still did a lot of work on this and had so much fun sticking our girls into this movie universe because it fits them so well! Some canon, some non-canon stuff. Let me know if you like it and thanks for reading!
> 
> Tw: Mentions of dementia/Alzheimer's per Adrienne's episodes.

**_Saturday, December 16, 2017_ **

It’s barely light out, barely above zero, too, and so she pulls on a fleece jacket over her black lycra outfit. She zips some money into her pocket and double ties the laces on her trainers. Adds gloves and a knitted hat before heading out into Holby’s first snowfall of the season.

They see snow most winters where she lives in Wyvern Village, but rarely enough for it to be an inconvenience. It’s light and fluffy and doesn’t really stick that much, yet she runs a little slower than usual as a precaution. Doesn’t want a repeat of last year, where she hobbled all through Christmas after a slip on an icy surface jarred her back.

The white covering atop the pavement glistens and sparkles beneath the glow of the streetlights as she comes to a stop at the end of the street. She waits for a green convertible to pass before crossing over and heading straight on into the park.

It’s nice to slow down a little, to fully appreciate the beautiful scenery and soak in the peace and quiet as she passes the duck pond. It’s a route that provides a shortcut to the town centre, but she adds in three more laps of the sizeable pond in an effort to lengthen her workout and to keep out the chill.

By the time she reaches the newsagent on Holby High Street, it’s about three miles, give or take, and she manages it without stopping. She feels good despite the cold burning at the end of her nose.

When she steps inside, a hunched figure in a dark coat occupies the first aisle by the magazines, so she takes the second and heads straight for the fridge at the back of the shop.

“Can I help you find something, love?” shouts the man behind the counter, but, with her purposeful stride, she knows he isn’t talking to her.

“True Crime Monthly?” a woman replies, sounding a little flustered. “It used to be _here_ , but now I can’t -”

“Oh, bottom shelf,” she hears him explain as she views the flavoured water choices. “Sorry, we reorganised everything last week.”

Grabbing a bottle - Dragon fruit today, full of vitamin C to help fend off the coughs and colds doing the rounds - she heads back towards the counter, swiping a newspaper on her way, and fishing some loose coins from her pocket.

“The usual?” the shop owner asks, her total already showing on the cash register.

“Thanks, Tim,” she says, handing over the correct change.

Stepping out onto the street, she tucks the folded newspaper under her arm and opens her drink. Chugs two-thirds of it in one go and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand when she’s done. Catches a spontaneous, sputtering little laugh with her fist as she hears the other customer let out a triumphant, “A-ha! Found it!”

Whoever they are, they must really like true crime stories, and, well... to each their own.

She jams her water bottle into a pocket much too small, unfolds her paper and leans back against the brick wall of the shop front. The front page isn’t the usual tabloid headline, but rather a weather forecast featuring just one full-page photo; a recognisable satellite image from the winter of 2009 of the entire British Isles covered in white.

She’s only vaguely aware of the other customer exiting the shop and climbing into a parked car as she reads. _Get ready for record snow!_ says the caption, and a cursory glance at the main article explains how the Met Office are predicting weather even more severe than 2009 for the coming week.

They’re going to get as much as two feet of snow, they warn, possibly more in highland areas. Strong winds with risk of blizzards... She folds her paper away and tucks it back under her arm with a scoff. The sky has lightened a lot since she left the house and it’s barely even snowing at all now.

 _I’ll believe it when I see it,_ she thinks, as she pushes off the wall.

At the kerb, she cuts in front of a green convertible with its engine running, jogs all the way across the high street to Connie’s Café and is halfway in the door before the car even pulls away.

* * *

 

**_Sunday, December 24, 2017_ **

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving, I’m not here!” she chants, both hands in the air as she rushes into her office and slams the door.

She should have left two hours ago, but a nearby traffic accident involving multiple vehicles had overwhelmed A&E and she’d had no choice but to accept the overflow onto AAU.

Now, everyone has their orders and they know who to go to in her absence should there be a problem that requires a consultant. She’s even managed a quick change out of her scrubs and back into her favourite, festive red blouse thank you very much.

She slips on her navy winter coat, quickly collects up everything she needs to take home, and hurries off the ward trying to avoid a fuss. Makes it as far as the Nurses’ Station before Morven, Raf, and Fletch spot her leaving.

“Merry Christmas, Ms. Campbell!”

“Have a good one, Serena!”

“‘Ere, save at least one bottle for New Year, won’t ya?!”

“I make no promises,” she laughs, wiggling her fingers as she backs out of the exit in lieu of a proper wave from hands that are too full. “Have a great week everyone! Be good!”

At the car, she loads up the boot with everything except her handbag, climbs in and starts up the engine. Taking out her phone, she dials a number from memory and flicks it to speakerphone. She reverses from her private parking space as the call connects, putting her foot down as much as she dare in the busy carpark.

_‘Good afternoon, Holby Manor Hospice.’_

“Sarah?”

_‘Yes.’_

“It’s Serena Campbell.”

_‘Oh, hello!’_

“How is she doing today?”

_‘It seems to be a good day.’_

“Oh, good. I’ll be bringing my family over in a couple of hours and I have a brand new outfit for her to wear, so you don’t need to dress her."

_‘Okay. I think she’ll love that.’_

Serena smiles to herself.

“I hope so.”

* * *

 

She places the diaphragm of the stethoscope and pauses, blocks out the incessant, steady beep of the machine by the bed as she listens carefully.

Repositioning, she repeats the process again and again. Checks every inch of her patient’s chest, until a gravelly voice interrupts from the doorway.

“Listening for a second opinion?”

She smiles as she straightens, loops the stethoscope behind her neck and steps toward her boss with hands shoved into deep scrub pockets.

“When you’re stuck in the middle of the desert with minimal equipment you get used to doing things the old-fashioned way. It’s a habit you never quite shake.”

“Hey,” he says, palms out. “I stopped questioning your methods a long time ago.”

She moves to join him out in the corridor. “We pulled a four-foot piece of scaffolding out of his chest three days ago, but at the rate he’s recovering he’ll be home by New Year.”

“Wow. Great work,” he says, visibly impressed.

“He’s young,” she demurs with a head tilt as they begin to walk along the corridor towards her office. “That always helps. So, to what do we owe the pleasure, Mr. Griffin? Don’t tell me St. James’s enigmatic CEO just stopped by to say hello...”

“My board meeting was cancelled,” he explains with a small shrug. “Just thought I’d take a little walk around before I leave.”

“Mm-hm,” she hums, skeptical, because she’s known the man long enough now to know he doesn’t do anything without a motive.

Reaching her office, she enters and sits in front of the computer. Expects him to break some news or make some kind of announcement as he follows her inside and loiters beside her desk, but he remains quiet as she prepares to update some patient records.

When she looks up again, he’s peering down at her in a way she’s seen before.

“What’s that look for?”

“What look?”

“ _W_ _hat look_ \- You’ve got that ‘Bernie, you must get out more’ look.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She sighs, drops her pen on the desk, and leans back in her chair. “You don’t have to check up on me, I’m fine.”

“You haven’t taken a single day off in six months.”

“Because I’m _fine_.”

“So you keep saying. But Françoise and I haven’t seen you socially in over a year. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? She made her famous foie gras paté again.”

“Mmmmm,” she moans, the memory of the french delicacy enough to make her mouth water. “Délicieux. And I would love to, but I already have plans, sorry.”

“Are you sure? You’re not just going home alone and eating something out of a tin -”

She barks a laugh. Of course she is, but admitting it isn’t an option. “Have you met me? That would involve cooking and you know me better than that. I appreciate the offer though. Tell Françoise I said Merry Christmas.”

“O-kaaay,” he drawls, moving back to the open doorway. “But if you change your mind...”

She’s touched that he cares, so her smile is warm and genuine, but she won’t be swayed. "Merry Christmas, Ric."

“Merry Christmas,” he replies, conceding defeat with a slight bow of his head.

She watches him walk away with an odd sense of relief. Feels guilty for lying, for covering up her plans. Knows he would have listened had she tried to explain, tried to tell him the truth. Knows it would have been much too hard, that she’s never been good at words, and that this is just easier. For everyone.

* * *

 

When she arrives home from work, Serena deposits a handful of gift bags on the floor beneath the coat rack at the bottom of the stairs. All of the bags are tall and slim and more than likely contain some variety of red wine. The fact that her staff know her so well fills her heart.

She slips off her coat and scarf and hangs them on an empty hook, tries not to touch too much with hands stubbornly coated in fine, silver glitter. She loves Morven dearly, but wishes she’d thought to put the young girl’s particularly festive choice of gift bag into a carrier bag before leaving the hospital. Fears she’s left an annoyingly hard-to-shift, sparkly trail that no doubt includes her car and her office.

“Something smells good in here,” she beams, as she steps into the kitchen.

“Apple and cinnamon bundt cake,” Elinor replies, setting the tin down on the worktop with a flourish and flashing a proud smile. “A friend taught me how to make it while I was in London.”

Serena leans in and pecks a kiss to the side of her head. “Well, I’m happy to hear you learned _something_ while you were off trying to _find yourself_.”

“Mum!” Elinor whines, throwing off her oven gloves, but Serena just lifts an amused eyebrow and moves around the island to her nephew.

“Hello, Jason.” She pecks a kiss to his head, too. “Good day?”

“Yes thank you, Auntie Serena,” he smiles as she heads back towards the door.

“Good. Right. Well, as soon as I scrub my hands and change my clothes we need to go and collect Grandma Adi.”

“She should already be here,” Elinor grumbles and Serena stops dead in the doorway, a lump in her throat.

She knows how Elinor can be sometimes; mouthy and selfish and wholly inconsiderate of other people’s feelings. She wishes this wasn’t one of those times. But she also knows Elinor doesn’t have all the facts about Adrienne’s condition, that she’s held back some of the more difficult details for her daughter’s sake - and for her _own_ sake - so she isn’t to know. But the harshness of the unexpected words still causes a literal pain in her chest.

When she turns, Elinor can’t hold her gaze. Just drops her eyes to the floor and mutters softly, “Sorry.”

A quick nod is all Serena can manage before turning and heading upstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Bernie finishes her shift, runs a couple of errands, and pulls her car into the carpark of Holby Manor Hospice it has started snowing again.

The conditions have been such that every small amount that has fallen sporadically over the last few days has stuck, covering the greater Holby area in a blanket that gets a little bit thicker every few hours.

There has to be over a foot accumulated by now, undisturbed anywhere there aren’t vehicles or foot traffic. Not quite the amount forecasted though, and even on the back roads of Holby the low temperatures have caused more havoc than the snow itself, sending several victims of black ice into St. James’s trauma unit.

She wraps a thick, black scarf around her neck and tucks the tails inside her cream coat. Grabs a large gift basket and a heavy carrier bag from the passenger seat and rushes inside.

She’s wiping her feet on the large doormat and shaking the snow off when a lively voice calls, “Merry Christmas, Ms. Wolfe!”

“Same to you, Sarah,” she says as a young woman walks towards her from across the foyer. “How’s your daughter doing now?”

“Oh, much better, thank you. You were right! She _was_ just teething after all, and I shouldn’t have -”

“Nonsense,” she cuts in gently, knowing how easy it is to panic over the tiniest thing with your first baby. “You were right to check. Better safe than sorry.”

Sarah gives her a grateful smile and then frowns down at the basket she carries. “What’s this?”

“Oh, I brought treats for the staff!” she explains, holding it out for the woman to take.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have!”

“And some books for the residents,” she adds, still holding the carrier bag.

They move over to the vacant reception desk where Sarah puts down the basket. There’s a heavenly smell and she can hear the delicate tinkling of a teaspoon against porcelain, knows whomever _was_ covering the desk is currently busy back there in the little staff kitchen.

“What are you brewing today?” she asks.

“We made a big, strong pot of Grumpy Mule,” Sarah grins. “I thought you might stop by.”

Bernie lets out a little chuckle, embarrassed by her own predictability, then pushes away from the desk and moves towards the open staircase. “You are a lifesaver. I think I’ll spend some time upstairs for a while first before I drink all your coffee.”

“Sure, take your time.”

Halfway up, she pauses, wants to make doubly sure it’s a good time to check in on a few people. “Um, are Mr. Phillips and Mrs. Rogers up?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Okay, good.”

“Why don’t you stay later?” Sarah calls. “We’re having turkey!”

She stops and turns, sees the woman leaning casually against the reception desk, peering up at her with a big smile as the receptionist returns from the kitchen carrying a huge, steaming mug.

“I appreciate the offer, but I have a party to get to,” she lies, before continuing up the stairs.

The receptionist’s voice is low as she reaches the landing, but not quite low enough for her not to notice.

“Why does she keep coming here?”

She doesn’t wait to hear Sarah’s answer, already knows the answer for herself. She just refuses to think about it.

* * *

 

Serena hustles in through the doors of Holby Manor Hospice carrying a large bunch of roses and a clothing bag. She removes her fluffy winter hat as Elinor and Jason rush inside behind her, a strong wind whipping a flurry of snow in with them as the door slams closed.

The commotion drags Sarah’s attention away from the reception desk and Serena grins wide as the woman approaches.

“Ah, Ms. Campbell, I’ve been trying to reach you,” Sarah says and Serena’s smile instantly falls away as dread fills her veins.

“Why, is something wrong?”

Sarah holds her palms out. It’s a calming gesture that Serena recognises as one she uses almost daily with patients and relatives - and sometimes colleagues - but all she can focus on is the way her pulse picks up and throbs in her neck, tightening her throat.

“It’s Mrs. McKinnie. We were getting her ready to go and she became very agitated -”

“Is it her heart again?” she rushes. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“- The doctor came a little while ago and gave her something to calm her down. She’s fine but she’s still a little -”

“But Auntie Serena, you said Adi was coming home today,” Jason cuts in and Serena turns to him, blindsided and feeling unfairly cornered as Elinor huffs and throws her hands up.

“So now we can’t even _see_ her?!”

“No, it’s just that -” Sarah tries again and Serena sighs hard, can’t believe how such a good day, a day she’s been looking forward to for weeks, is suddenly the opposite of what she’d hoped it would be.

“We’re going upstairs,” she snips, cupping Jason’s elbow and steering both him and Elinor towards the stairs.

It’s Christmas, and nothing and no one is going to stop her from seeing her mother.

* * *

 

When they reach Adrienne’s room, Serena makes a point of slowing down. She pauses at the door and sucks in a long, controlled breath. Tries to shed the panic she felt downstairs as she exhales, doesn’t want anything to appear amiss when they enter.

Pushing the door open and stepping inside, she finds her mother in a nightgown, standing by the window, staring blankly outside.

“Hi, Mum!” she says, her tone bright and gentle as she approaches, but Adrienne doesn’t turn, doesn’t even flinch.

Grasping her gently at the shoulders, Serena turns and guides her away from the window where a handful of little origami elephants sit all in a row on the sill. “Come on, let’s put you back to bed.”

Adrienne doesn’t resist, just shuffles along calmly until Serena sets her on the side of the bed. “How am I supposed to pick up my daughter from school in all this snow?”

“Okay...” Serena sighs, taking a breath and ignoring the obvious as she gestures towards where the rest of her family stands just inside the door. “Look, Mum, Jason’s here and - and Elinor came to visit. We came to take you home for Christmas. Elinor...” She waves her daughter over and steps away as the young girl sits beside her mother.

“Hi, Grandma. I’ve missed you!”

“Oh, Ellie!” Adrienne gasps, eyes alight with wonder as she cups the girl’s face and then plays with her fringe.

“I had my hair cut. Do you like it?”

“I brought you a magazine,” Jason offers, stepping forward and holding out a copy of True Crime Monthly. “Auntie Serena said serial killer documentaries are your favourite and I like them, too, so you can have this now that I’ve finished it.”

Adrienne’s bright eyes and beaming smile help to calm Serena’s rattling nerves, so much so that she approaches the bed once more and offers up the clothing bag. “Here we are, now, we’ll put you in your new dress and get you home. It’s red - your favorite color!”

The instant she reaches for her mother they all jump out of their skins, stunned by a bloodcurdling scream.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” Adrienne shrieks. “GET AWAY!”

“Alright - it’s alright,” she soothes. “It’s me, Serena.” But every time she gets close, Adrienne shoves her away and continues to shout.

“HELP, SOMEONE! HELP!”

Heart pounding once more with panic, Serena turns to her daughter. “Ellie?”

“What’s wrong, Grandma? It’s just Mum.” Adrienne wilts a little as Elinor leans in, wraps her in a hug, and rubs circles on her back. She doesn’t fight back, just clings to the girl as she cries.

“She’s trying to kill me. She’s trying to kill me!”

Elinor turns to Serena, fear and confusion creasing her brow, and whispers, “Mum, what’s going on?”

“She gets confused,” she says, sighing again and rubbing tremulous fingers across her forehead, because it’s an incredible understatement and by no means a fair answer given what Elinor has witnessed with her own eyes, but it’s the best she can manage right now. “It’ll pass,” she adds, waving Sarah into the room as the woman appears in the doorway.

Taking Elinor’s place beside her on the bed, Sarah holds Adrienne as she sobs violently. “I want to go home. I want to go home!”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Jason starts to chant, rocking back and forth as he stands in the corner covering his ears. “It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

“It’s alright, Jason,” Elinor soothes, rubbing his back gently as Adrienne’s crying subsides. “Adi’s just a little upset, but she’s going to be alright.” She continues to comfort her cousin as she turns to Serena.

“She’s not just a bit confused, is she?”

Overcome by her mother’s outburst, her nephew’s understandable discomfort, and her daughter’s surprise show of sensitivity, Serena has to clear the lump from her throat before she can speak. “She - ahem - she has good days and bad days. Suffice it to say, this isn’t one of her best.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because she’s _my_ responsibility,” she snips, immediately regretting her tone as she sees a flash of hurt cross Elinor’s face. She wants to say more, wants to explain to her daughter how hard this is, how she would never wish this on anyone else, how no child - even if they are twenty-one now - should have to help care for an elderly relative, but now is not the time.

“Would everyone stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here?!” Adrienne yells and Serena feels her shoulders slump just a little bit more.

“Why don’t you, um, take Jason home in the car,” she says, fishing keys out of her coat pocket and handing them to Elinor. There’s no reason for them all to suffer through this difficult situation. “I’ll stay with her for a bit.”

“Come with us,” Elinor pleads, clearly aware of Serena’s discomfort, too. “We can all come back here tomorrow. Maybe she’ll be better by then.”

It’s a good suggestion and Elinor’s not wrong; her mother could be perfectly lucid tomorrow, could be lucid five minutes from now in fact, given the nature of her condition. But she can’t bring herself to run away, no matter how much it hurts to stay, and so she shakes her head. “I’ll take a taxi home later.”

Elinor gestures towards the thick snow falling outside the window. “Mum, you may not be able to get one in this weather.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” she dismisses, moving to sit in the armchair beside Adrienne’s bed as Sarah lies her mother down and tucks her in beneath the duvet.

As Jason steps out into the corridor, Elinor stops and turns in the doorway. “Mum, please come with us.”

“Go. It’s okay,” Serena says, waving her off. She doesn’t turn around for fear of revealing her tears.


	3. Chapter 3

Bernie doesn’t count the minutes as she sits perched on the edge of the bed. She just takes each one as it comes, feels them tick silently by. Lets them wash over her as she enjoys the peaceful serenity and tries to reminisce over joyful memories. Watches the sky darken and the snow thicken beyond the large bay window.

She has spent altogether too many minutes in this room, so many difficult, painful moments in the past, and yet today there don’t seem to be enough minutes left as she’s disturbed by the door suddenly opening behind her.

“Oh, sorry,” a voice says as she turns around.

A woman stands in the doorway - a short-haired brunette in a royal blue blouse - and Bernie frowns. Wonders why anyone visiting a relative would enter a room with no name on the door. She holds the woman’s gaze as she stares back, looking sort of perplexed and likely wondering why anyone would sit alone in an obviously vacant room.

“Can I help you?”

“I was just looking for something to put these in,” the woman says, holding up a bunch of red roses.

“Um, ask at reception,” she offers, feeling like she just stated the obvious but uncertain of what else to suggest.

The woman’s eyes narrow. “You don’t work here?”

“No,” she snips, irrationally irritated by the assumption and the intrusion.

She catches an eye roll as the woman spins away and pulls the door. Turning back to the window, she hears a sigh and the woman mutter, “Sorry I asked,” as the door snicks closed.

Her head falls forward and she sighs too, ashamed of herself. It wouldn’t have cost her anything to be a little more helpful, after all everyone in this place is having a bad day, or, at the very least, not their best day.

 _This is probably a good time to leave_ , she thinks, shoving off the bed and buttoning up her coat.

The snow looks wet and heavy and the black streaks of tarmac that she can see from this viewpoint are quickly disappearing. She probably couldn’t have stayed much longer anyway. Still, she doesn’t immediately move, just buries her hands deep into her pockets and inhales a long deep breath through her nose. She tries to shake off her irritation, tries to find her equilibrium again, even as her mind chases a scent that once lingered in this room but has long since vanished.

He’s not here. And it’s time to go.

* * *

 

“I’ll put these in some water,” Sarah says, taking the roses from Serena as she shuffles dejectedly back into Adrienne’s room and collapses down into the armchair.

“They’re her favorites,” she sniffs, fighting back another well of tears as she looks over at her sleeping mother. She strokes a hand over Adrienne’s arm and smoothes a wrinkle out of the duvet. “She probably doesn’t even remember.”

“I’m sure she does.” Sarah pats her hand comfortingly before arranging the blooms.  

With the roses placed on the bedside table, Sarah moves to the window and turns back to Serena. “I’ve never seen it snow like this before. You should probably go home while you still can. Get some rest. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Serena doesn’t have the energy to argue. She’s already accepted that her mother is in the best hands now and that Adrienne’s needs are far beyond anything she can manage anymore. She knows. She tried. And so she stands and puts on her coat, says, “Thank you, Sarah,” and heads downstairs.

* * *

 

“Leaving so soon?” Sarah says as Bernie runs into her at the top of the stairs.

“Yes, I have to get going.”

“That’s a shame. I wish you could stay longer.” Sarah gently bumps her shoulder as they descend side-by-side. “It’s always so nice to see you.”

She smiles, her cheeks warmed by Sarah’s never-ending kindness. “It was nice of you to offer.”

When they reach the foyer, she stops and loops her scarf around her neck, sees Sarah raise an eyebrow in teasing suspicion.

“So where’s this party, then?”

“Not far -” she fibs, changing the subject “- fortunately, because it doesn’t look like the snow is stopping any time soon.”

A raised voice by the reception desk makes her turn and she finds the brunette from earlier, talking on the phone, angry and pacing.

_‘Come on! I’ve only been here an hour! How can the roads already be - - - No, no, I live in Wyvern Village on Holbrook Drive. I’ll pay the taxi driver extra for his trouble - - - But it’s Christmas and I have to get home!’_

“Well, have a wonderful Christmas,” Sarah says, instantly reclaiming Bernie’s focus.

“Yeah, er... yes,” she replies, momentarily distracted. “You too. I’ll see you soon.” She gives a final little wave as she heads for the door.

Outside, the strong wind takes her breath away. It stings her face as it whips her hair in every direction, so she hurries across the carpark as she shivers against the cold.

She only makes it halfway before her conscience kicks in, making her freeze.

 _Don’t do it_ , she argues with herself, shaking her head as if to try and dislodge the treacherous notion from her mind. _It’s not your responsibility!_

But... “Never leave a man behind,” she mutters, grasping at her scarf and pulling it tight to keep out the howling cold. She lets out a low growl as her conscience wins the battle, forcing her to turn and jog back inside.

The brunette is still arguing with the taxi company as she strides purposefully across the foyer, intent on doing her duty, as it were.

“Look, I’ll pay a _hundred pounds_ if you can make an exception just this once. My family is waiting for me, and -”

“Excuse me -” she tries, leaning in behind the woman’s shoulder.

The woman doesn’t turn, just holds out an index finger. “I’ll just be a minute -”

“I just wanted to -” she tries again, receiving an angry huff for her trouble.

“One. Minute!”

“Would you like a lift home?” she asks firmly, giving it one last try that finally seems to work.

The woman stops talking and turns to her, eyes alight with surprise. “Oh! Really?!”

“I’d like to help,” she says with a stiff nod. “I live on Holbeck Close. That’s not too far from you, I believe.”

“That - that’s - yes, wonderful!”

The woman ends her call without hesitation and throws the phone into the bag slung over her shoulder. Makes a beeline for the exit without another word as Bernie looks on, her mouth pressed into a hard line.

With long strides, she makes quick work of the distance between them, leads the way to one of only a handful of cars remaining in the carpark. With her key, she unlocks the passenger door first and then moves to the driver’s side, turns to find the woman standing several feet behind the car with a weird look on her face that appears to have nothing to do with the blizzard swirling around them.

“Is there a problem?” she asks, already wishing she’d left when she first had the chance.

The woman gestures at the vehicle. “This is your car?!”

“Yes,” she drawls after a long, deep breath. Can see a deeply furrowed brow beneath windswept brown hair as she moves closer to her impromptu passenger.

“But, it’s - a... what is it?”

“It’s a Cosmo,” she says, irritation and impatience colouring her tone.

“ - a Cosmo?! It’s a little impractical, don’t you think?”

This from a person wearing leopard print kitten heels in December, Bernie notes, as she looks the judgmental brunette up and down. She’d love to debate the finer points of fast cars some other time when she’s not about to freeze to death.

“It’s a Mazda,” she states flatly, moving back to the driver’s side and opening the door.

“It’s a relic,” the snarky woman fires back, moving to the passenger door.

“Well, this _relic_ seems to be your only option at the moment,” she says pointedly over the roof of the antique white classic. “So I suggest you get in.” She doesn’t wait for a response, just ducks her head and climbs inside as the brunette huffs and follows suit.

With the engine started, Bernie wastes no time in pulling away. Notes the satisfying way her car’s acceleration throws the woman off balance as she bends to situate her bag in the footwell between her feet.

She tries not to smirk as the woman turns to her and tuts, just lifts an eyebrow and barks, “Seatbelt.”


	4. Chapter 4

For fifteen minutes they make good progress despite the blizzard and low light conditions.

But then a hulking great gritter truck appears with its hazard lights flashing as it slowly sprays salt in every direction and Serena breaks the awkward silence with a heavy sigh. She gestures impatiently toward the back of the truck as it crawls along at five miles per hour.

“Can’t you just overtake him?”

She strains to see if there’s anything ahead of it, fails because it’s starting to go dark, because the snow is still coming down thick and fast, and because the truck itself is _ so _ much bigger than the ridiculous little two-seater in which she finds herself.

“Just go around it -”

“And have my paintwork sandblasted?!” the woman cuts in with a shake of her messy blonde head. “No, thank you.” Serena opens her mouth to respond, is about to verbalise in vicious detail how much she  _ doesn’t _ care about the bloody paintwork when the woman adds, “I have a much better idea.”

They turn left at the next available junction as the woman takes them onto a back road she’s not familiar with, through a stretch of countryside that’s featureless and nothing but white as far as the eye can see.

“Don’t you think you should have carried straight on?” she asks, peering accusingly at the blonde’s profile.

The woman looks over only briefly as she speaks, but doesn’t shy away from meeting Serena’s eye. “Did you  _ want _ to be stuck behind that gritter for the next twenty miles?”

“No,” she drawls, because she’d made that much obvious and they both know it. And although this alternative route through the middle of nowhere is  _ not _ what she’d suggested, she’s not the one in the driver’s seat. “I just want to get home as soon as possible,” she says, turning back to look out of the windscreen, catching the blonde give a nod out of the corner of her eye.

“Well, this should be a quicker way.”

* * *

 

 

They cover a few more miles in silence, but Bernie has eased off the accelerator considerably due to the amount of falling snow. It’s not safe to do even close to the speed limit in these conditions and now she can barely see the road surface ahead.

The headlights illuminate every snowflake, zipping toward them in a bright white, dizzying cloud. It’d be beautiful if she wasn’t wishing for this journey to be over as soon as possible. 

“I noticed the army stickers in the back window,” the brunette says, breaking the silence again, and she doesn’t know which is worse; the awkward atmosphere between them, or the desperate grasping for something to talk about.

Still,  _ she’s observant _ , Bernie thinks. But then…

“Is your husband a soldier?”

“No,” she snips, successfully creating another quiet lull before flicking on the radio. She wonders if her tone causes it, or if maybe the woman catches that she isn’t wearing a wedding ring as she reaches out to turn the knob. Either way, she doesn’t care.

Less than a minute later, her passenger huffs and sighs and she looks over to find the brunette with her arms crossed, practically rigid with displeasure.

She suspects it’s not the intermittent radio static that’s irritating the woman, but more likely Led Zeppelin’s enjoyably raucous and deliciously fitting ‘Communication Breakdown’ as it fills the space between them.

“Something wrong with the music?” she asks, unable to help herself from opening the proverbial door.

But the woman doesn’t rant as she might expect, doesn’t question or criticise her taste in music, just shrugs and mutters, “It’s  _ your _ car.”

“Well I’m sorry it’s not to your taste. Perhaps you’d prefer some whale song or maybe the soothing sounds of the rainforest?” she says sarcastically, immediately landing on the quiet instrumentals of meditation music as the complete antithesis of the flinty and uptight character beside her, something she guesses would probably irritate just as much, if not more than the classic rock.

An exaggerated eye roll tells her she’s not wrong.

“I like modern jazz and blues,” the brunette declares defensively, as if she’s had to justify her taste one too many times. “Madeleine Peyroux, for instance, who is a wonderful artist. Some say she’s too ‘folksy’ for the traditional genre, but I’d say she’s comparable to Billie Holiday...”

Bernie feels a twinge of guilt, again, for having been less than nice. Has nothing to add on a subject she knows nothing about. Just says, “Oh,” and concentrates on driving, gripping the wheel a little tighter as she feels the steering momentarily lighten.

At the next bend, the steering seems to fail completely and the car starts to slide. Without modern anti-locking brakes there’s little she can do except hold on, and yet her passenger has other ideas, leaning over and turning the wheel, yanking it from Bernie’s grip. 

“HEY!”

The sudden move sends the vehicle into a jolting, dizzying spin that catapults them off the side of the road and into a bank of deep snow. 

“Oh no,” the woman laments, as Bernie revs the engine in reverse and the wheels do nothing but spin.

When the engine stops revving and starts whining, and then quickly dies with a loud bang, she lets her passenger have it. “What on  _ earth _ did you think you were  _ doing _ ?! Do you have  _ any _ idea how serious -”

“I just want to get out of this car,” the brunette snarls as she snatches up her bag and Bernie is taken aback by her ungrateful tone.

“You’re blaming  _ me _ ?!”

The woman stops her efforts to open the door and turns. “Oh, no, no, we  _ should _ have turned left, because  _ that _ was such a fantastic idea -”

“I suppose you think you could have avoided the accident it if  _ you’d _ been driving -”

“At this point,” the woman huffs, reaching into her bag and pulling out a furry hat, “I’d just like to get out of the car.”

“We must have hit a patch of ice,” she reasons, annoyed that her efforts to do a good thing are now being thrown back in her face. “How was I supposed to know -”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” the woman exclaims, pulling on her hat with some force and turning again to open the door. “Can we  _ please _ get out of the car?!”

“Right!  _ You _ could have avoided it,” Bernie grumbles as she releases her seatbelt and removes the keys from the ignition.

“I’ll tell you what, I will bet you…” Rummaging once more, the woman retrieves a red purse from her bag and snatches out some money, thrusting it in Bernie’s face. “... a thousand pounds that  _ I _ could have avoided it!”

“ _ That _ is a five pound note,” she points out, eyes narrowed and goading.

“It’s just a  _ metaphor _ for how I feel!” the woman rages as she stuffs it away in her bag and starts to climb out of the car.

Climbing out of her own side, Bernie steels herself against the cold by tugging her scarf up inside the collar of her coat. She covers her throat and chin, scowling over the roof at the back of the brunette’s head until, suddenly, that head disappears in a flash and she hears the woman fall with a thud.

“Ow!”

She can’t contain the snort that leaves her nose, just slams the door shut and moves toward the back of the vehicle.

“If you’re laughing, I swear to god –”

“Absolutely not,” she lies, as she peers around the car to find the woman getting back to her feet. But when the woman slips again, only just managing to stay upright, she has to turn away and snickers down into her scarf.

She hears the car door slam behind her as she strides several feet away, retrieving her phone from her coat pocket. She wants to call for help, wants the emergency services to come and rescue them both from this wintery hell so that they can go their separate ways as soon as possible, but there are no bars on the screen, no signal whatsoever, and no matter whose number she tries, it doesn’t connect.

“Damn,” she mutters, rolling her eyes as the brunette curses from behind. When she turns, the woman is also holding out a phone, scowling as hard as she’s ever seen a person scowl, as if this new development is her fault, too.

“There’s no signal.” Throwing her arms out, the woman asks, “So where the hell are we?”

“It all looks so different in the snow,” she says, turning this way and that, because, honestly, she’s not even sure anymore due to the weather and the impromptu detour. “We can’t be far from  _ somewhere _ ,” she reasons, processing out loud, but the woman looks mortified.

“What?...”

“Well, we weren’t driving for that long,” she explains, pointing back the way they came. “Holby Manor must only be about ten miles from here.” They could walk back, well,  _ she _ could, given her career experience and sensible shoes. She can’t speak for her passenger, but the woman’s folded arms suggest she might be opposed even if she weren’t wearing shoes unsuitable for trekking through snow.

“I say we sit in this totally ridiculous car and keep the heat running until somebody passes through this shortcut from hell.”

“Good idea,” Bernie nods, hoping against hope that there isn’t a dire emergency at the hospital while she’s stranded out here. It is the busy season, after all. She points an index finger at the woman, towards the car, and then back at herself. “ _ You’re  _ welcome to stay in the  _ totally ridiculous car _ , which happens to be a classic by the way, but  _ I _ have important responsibilities.”

“And what makes you think I don’t?” the woman bristles, meeting Bernie’s eye with an impressively fiery stare before storming off as fast as her heels will allow.

“If we don’t die,” she mutters, stuffing her hands deep into her pockets and deliberately lagging a few feet behind as she begrudgingly follows, “I’m going to kill her.”

* * *

 

 

Jason seemed to calm down the instant they left the hospice, but he’s been quiet and withdrawn since they got home and Elinor isn’t really sure what to do.

She guesses hot chocolate might help, and is happy to see his eyes light up as she sets a steaming mug down in front of him where he sits at the dining table.

“Auntie Serena makes the best hot chocolate,” he says, blowing the steam off it and taking a tentative sip. “But this is very good, too.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, happy that he feels up to talking again. “I learned from the best.”

“She usually makes me wait until after I’ve eaten.”

“I don’t think she’ll mind just this once,” she says, glancing at the time and wondering if it’s worth waiting for her mother, or whether they should eat without her before it gets too late. “But I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

He looks up and grins for the first time since they left the house. “And I won’t tell her you drank all of the special coffee that she hides in the back of the cupboard.”

“Okay,” she laughs, taking out her phone and quickly looking up a number. While it rings, she risks a serious question. “When did Grandma get so bad? You said she was doing okay.”

“That was two months ago,” he states, his smile dropping off and his tone as blunt as ever. “You haven’t been home for a long time, Ellie.”

She’s saved from the look of utter disappointment on his face by a voice in her ear.

_ ‘Holby Manor.’ _

“Hi, yes, this is Elinor Campbell, Serena Campbell’s daughter. Is my mum still there?”

_ ‘No, she got a lift with someone. She left a little while ago.’ _

“Okay, thank you.” Relieved, she turns back to Jason with a smile. “Mum got a lift home, so she should be here soon.” She expects that news will perk him up, but he just sort of stares into his drink between sips.

When he does finally speak again, he sounds resigned and a little upset. It makes her heart clench.

“I don’t think Adi’s ever coming home.”

She doesn’t quite know what to say, clearly hasn’t been privy to the worst parts of Adrienne’s condition and its effect on her family. “I didn’t realize how awful she - how bad it was.”

“I helped Auntie Serena to make her a photo album, so she could remember who we all are.”

“I should have been here to help. That’s something else I missed,” she says, suddenly tearful and regretting the distance she’s forced between herself and her mother. “I bet mum loved it though.” 

“She did and she’s happy that you’re here now.”

She knows she has no right to feel left out but it still stings, and yet Jason’s matter-of-fact way of dealing with everything soothes her. It’s reassuring to know he doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean.

“Come on,” she sniffs, patting his arm and getting up from the table. “You can make yourself useful and help me with the food.”

They might as well get everything ready, she thinks, for when her mum gets home, but as she takes a dish from the cabinet, a large multi-coloured bowl falls to the floor with a resounding smash.

“Oh no!”

Jason jumps up from his seat as she crouches down amidst the mess. “I’ll get the dustpan. We need to clean it up before Auntie Serena gets home.”

Her tears finally fall as she reverently picks up several of the larger pieces. “That was Adi’s favorite bowl.” 

Jason stands beside her in the only spot not sprinkled with ceramic shards, rubs her stiffly on the shoulder, which is a first, like he’s watched her mum do it a hundred times and is trying it out for himself. It’s a development that makes her smile even through her sadness.

“It’s the one she got in France,” she explains, knowing it will never be replaced.

But Jason just starts sweeping around her, carefully collecting up the debris. “She won’t care,” he says plainly, and she knows he’s right.


	5. Chapter 5

If only she could turn back time. The beautiful shoes that had been a Christmas treat to herself - and were still brand new in the box this morning - would not now be completely ruined. But then, trekking through the outskirts of Holby and developing hypothermia due to exposure hadn’t been part of the equation when she’d chosen her outfit for the hospice.

“There has to be something around here,” Serena moans, pausing to look for signs of life as the blonde trudges on ahead. “We’re not exactly in the wilderness.”

“No, but we _are_ lost,” the woman replies, briefly turning to look but not stopping.

She huffs an impatient sigh and starts walking again, curses the burning cold that continues to creep its way from her damp toes to her bare ankles. Hurries a little too much as she tries to catch up to her miserable companion. “Has anybody ever told you that you’re a real pain in the ar-ghh!”

She lands on her bottom with a thud. Again. Scrambles to her feet as quickly as she can before the blonde notices. Tries to act nonchalant as she straightens her hat and pulls her bag strap up her shoulder, but the other woman stops and turns, appears to have damnably good hearing.

“Are you okay?” her companion enquires, clearly fighting a smirk.

Her eyebrows lift as she feigns ignorance. “I’m quite alright, thank you.”

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” the woman asks with a face full of concern and a tone so low and soft it sends a shiver through her that is nothing to do with the cold.

She feels her cheeks warm and knows the chill already pinking her face is enough to cover it, just acts indignant instead of how she really feels; embarrassed. “I’m fine!”

They trudge what she guesses to be another couple of miles - though it feels like much more to every part of her body except her toes, where the feeling has long since disappeared entirely - when suddenly the blonde spots what looks like another vehicle off the side of the road.

“Look! There’s a tractor, which means there has to be a farm close by.”

The woman waves her over, wanting to draw her off the side of the road and into a field, but she lags behind, almost losing a shoe in the deep snow. Despondent, damp, and increasingly desperate to get home, she throws her arms out in frustration as she surveys her surroundings for a building and finds nothing but trees. “Yes, unless the farm _burned down_ and the only thing _left_ is the tractor.”

“You’re a half empty kind of gal aren’t you?” the blonde shouts, still striding away.

“No,” she drawls, rubbing each hand quickly over her upper arms, as if it will somehow help to raise her core body temperature. “I just live in the _real_ world where people don’t drive classic cars in the snow!”

The situation is getting really quite serious now and, since she doubts very much they could find the car again even if they wanted to, they need to find shelter.

“I don’t suppose the keys are in it?” she shouts, knowing it’s a silly question and expecting the blonde to come trudging back out to the road any minute. But instead she hears the woman yelp and curse, swiftly followed by the heavenly sound of a rumbling tractor engine.

It bumbles slowly out of the field, onto the road, and she can’t help but smile. But that smile quickly falls away as it pulls up beside her and she spots a twisted mess of what she assumes to be ignition wires poking out by the woman’s knee. She wants an explanation, wants to know exactly what kind of shifty character she’s unwittingly gotten caught up with, and her narrowed eyes seem to be enough of a question.

“I used to be a car thief,” the blonde says with a little shrug, as if it’s no big deal, and her mouth drops open.

“Really?!” she squeaks, temporarily stunned. She wants to be more annoyed at the news, but she’s too relieved about not having to walk anymore.

“I’m fully rehabilitated,” the woman explains, like there’s no issue and no need for further discussion on the subject - despite the fact that taking someone’s tractor would in fact be evidence to the contrary - just waves a hand at Serena and says, “Hop on!”

She peers inside, peers at the woman occupying the only seat and raises an eyebrow. “Where, exactly?”

The woman squints for a second. “How much do you weigh?”

“None of your bloody business!” she snips, swatting the woman’s arm as she climbs on.

Wedging herself behind the seat she catches a half-hidden smile, knows it was only said to get a rise out of her. Not only did she fall for it, but now she’s stuck with the mental image of sitting in this woman’s lap for the rest of their journey, however long that might be.

Serena loosens her scarf and, feeling a tad hot all of a sudden, presses a hand to her throat as the tractor engine revs up.

“Now, hang on -” the woman says, as they’re about to set off, but Serena gasps as hands frantically scramble over her neck and chest.

“Wait! Wait,” she cries, quickly climbing back down from the tractor. “I lost my necklace. I have to find it!”

“That’s just great,” the blonde complains, not moving from the vehicle as Serena frantically searches the road. “Look... we’ll come back in June and have a scavenger hunt, but right now this thing is low on fuel and it’s below zero!”

Despite the sarcasm, she knows her companion is right; she has little to no chance of finding it in these blasted conditions. But the very last thing she’ll ever do is give up, particularly where that item is concerned, and so she marches over to the nearest tree, removes her scarf completely, and ties it in a knot around the lowest branch.

She receives a strange look as she returns to the tractor and climbs in, as if the woman is impressed by her spontaneous decision to leave a marker, whilst also considering her to be just a little bit too ridiculous. She doesn’t care whether either are true, but clears up the latter just in case.

“My father gave me that necklace for my 21st birthday.”

“Oh,” the woman murmurs with a tone now devoid of any teasing. “I’m sorry.”

When the tractor jerks away suddenly, Serena is thrown off balance. Instinctively she throws an arm out, manages to catch the blonde around the neck, though it doesn’t seem to bother her companion that much. The woman just raises a hand and grabs hers as if to anchor her in place.

“Hold on tight.”

She watches as the blonde takes them through a break in the trees, can just about make out the tracks beneath the snow that would suggest the tractor regularly travels this way. Wonders if she would have spotted them herself and if there’s a farmhouse at the end of the trail. Wonders, more to the point, actually, how a car thief, regardless of the ability to hotwire an engine, knows how to properly operate a tractor.

Removing her arm, she grips the seat instead and peers down at her companion as the tractor bounces along. The woman, she guesses, is around her age and was nicely turned out prior to their stormy little jaunt. Nothing about the blonde screams criminal, she thinks, as they crest a little bridge and the woman has to change gears.

Glancing down, Serena notes several drops of blood on the woman’s cream coat, tips her head and finds the source on the woman’s wrist.

“You’ve been cut,” she points out, on the off chance that her companion hasn’t noticed, but the woman just murmurs in response.

“Yeah, I did it starting the tractor.”

There’s a blood smear, she notes, beside the exposed wires on the ignition housing; a lip of sharp, rusty metal that looks painful and horribly unsanitary.

“Let me see,” she says, reaching for the woman’s hand, but the blonde brushes her off.

“It’s nothing, I’ll live.” Instead the woman points to a clearing amidst a large thicket of trees. “Look! There’s a cabin.”

“Thank god,” Serena sighs, relieved, as she pats the woman on the shoulder.

“I think we’re saved,” the blonde adds, turning to look up at her with a warm smile. “Let’s get you home to your family.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Come on,” Bernie offers, an outstretched hand waiting and willing to assist the brunette in climbing down from the tractor. But the woman doesn’t want help, just dismisses her with a swatting motion before climbing out.

“I can manage, thank you.”

“Alright,” she sings quietly, shaking her head as she turns away. Why she still feels compelled to help this prickly woman is beyond her. And yet... it isn’t, not really. She knows why, deep down, knows what that place does to people. Wishes someone kind had stopped to look, to really  _ see _ her when she’d needed it most. Still, if the woman ends up landing on her arse again, she’s not going to feel bad about it. 

The snow is thick as she picks her way up to the front door of the cabin. Nobody has cleared a path and, coupled with the lack of light or sound from within, she’s pretty certain there’s nobody here.

The other woman trots by as she peers into a window, heads for the front door and raps on it loudly.

She keeps an eye on the inside, but nothing and no one moves. It doesn’t stop the woman from knocking again and again.

“Wonderful,” the brunette complains, clearly disappointed after their brief moment of elation in the tractor. “There’s no one here!”

Bernie doesn’t quite share the same exasperation as she slips around the corner of the cabin, intent on finding another way in.

“Wait, where are you going?” the woman calls, but she’s too busy checking for unlocked windows to respond, suspects she’d only receive an earful anyway if she stopped to explain.

Finding no easy access, she chooses the ancient-looking back door as the option with least collateral damage. Breaks a small single-paned window panel with a carefully placed elbow and reaches inside to unlock it.

She moves slowly and quietly through the darkened cabin, tries not to bump into anything, to not give away her position as if she were still on maneuvers. But there’s no one hiding here, no ambush waiting in the lounge and she crosses it in several long strides. Opens the front door from the inside to find her companion shivering on the stoop, one eyebrow raised so high it’s disappeared up beneath that ridiculous fur hat.

“Breaking and entering is against the law -” the brunette snips, enunciating every syllable as if she’s simple, “- or didn’t you learn that from your probation officer?”

The woman seems reluctant to enter, and she knows how it looks, but neither is she too proud to deny their situation was turning fairly desperate.

“Maritime law states that when lost at sea any unoccupied port is a safe zone,” Bernie informs her companion, standing aside with her arms folded.

“Oh, you were in prison  _ and _ the Marines?” the brunette says flippantly, finally stepping inside and closing the door. “How comforting.”

“We have somewhere dry to shelter for a while,” she sighs. What’s done is done and as far as she’s concerned they might as well take advantage of it. “Maybe you could try calling for help again?”

“I did,” the woman replies, pointing back out to where she’d been waiting on the stoop. “Still no signal.”

“Well -” Bernie shrugs, more or less out of ideas but happy about their fortunate cabin discovery, “- your devoted husband will just have to wait for you to surface.”

“My husband left me ten years ago,” the brunette mutters, throwing her handbag down on the sofa.

She flicks on a lamp, bathing the room in a warm glow, and replies softly, “I’m sorry.”

The woman strips off her coat and hat and Bernie’s eyes are drawn to the rosy skin revealed within the deep V of her blouse as she turns back around.

“ _ I’m _ not,” the woman says, and Bernie believes her.

She drags her eyes away to the fireplace. Points at the door and the hearth as she backs away. “I’ll, uh, go out and look for some wood to make a fire.”

But the brunette frowns hard and throws her arms out. “So that’s it? We don’t even try to get help? We just give up and stay here?”

“No, not at all,” she says, every word dripping with sarcasm, because they’re lucky to have found this lifesaving place at all and what else is she expected to do? “ _ I’ll _ stay here by the fire.  _ You _ go out into the blizzard and search for signs of life. Bring me back some marshmallows.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Oh, please.”

“Look -” she tries again, ditching the attitude as she closes the distance, “- it’s just until tomorrow morning and then we can leave some money for the broken window and trek our way out of here.” Stepping within arm’s reach, she offers a hand to shake and chances a joke as dark eyes hold her gaze. “I guess if we’re sleeping together we should know each other’s names. I’m Bernie Wolfe.”

“Serena Campbell,” the woman says, the corner of her mouth twitching up in amusement as she takes Bernie’s hand and gives it a firm shake.

“Truce?”

“Truce,” Serena says, slowly letting go.

She shuffles back toward the door again, offers a smile and shucks a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll go and find some wood.”

“Okay,” Serena nods, and she turns to head outside, but stops dead in the doorway when the woman calls out. “Wait, wait...”

She watches Serena rub an anxious hand across her neck and chest as fingertips search for a necklace that isn’t there. Narrows her eyes and furrows her brow as she waits. Then, finally...

“Why did you give me a lift?”

“Because I was looking for a nightmare adventure in the snow,” she chuckles, eyes down to the floor as she swerves the question. But Serena isn’t letting her off the hook that easily. 

“No,  _ really _ . Why did you give me a lift?”

“Because I recognised the look,” she explains after a hard swallow, lifts her eyes to find Serena frowning again.

“What look?”

She sighs heavily, steels herself to say something that is hard to sugar coat, no matter how much she wishes it weren’t the case. “The look that says... ‘I love them more than anything in the world, but if I spend one more minute in this place watching them suffer, I think I’ll scream.’”

Wrapping protective arms about her midriff, Serena nods long and slow. “Was I that obvious?”

It’s a question with no good answer; either she implies Serena didn’t have a hold on her emotions, or she admits to seeing something most people would probably miss, and she’s not about to explain  _ that _ .

Instead she offers a kind smile, hides her eyes behind a long fringe that is just starting to dry off and ducks back outside.

Trudging around to the back once more, she thinks she saw a big pile of logs when she was canvassing for a way in, crosses her fingers in the hopes that not all of it is wet with snow. The cabin may be dry inside, but it’s certainly not warm. Most likely hasn’t been inhabited for a while, she guesses, because who in their right mind would want to be shacked up out here in the middle of winter anyway?

When she reaches it, the pile of wood is thankfully quite large, several logs deep in fact and stacked neatly between two small trees. She removes any that are covered in snow and fills her arms with lovely crisp pieces from the centre of the stack.

Reaching down for one last log, she loses a piece from atop the bundle she carries and it smacks her injured wrist on the way down.

“Ow, shit!”

She tries to shake it off, wants to peer at the cut and see if it’s oozing blood again, but it’s difficult with her frozen hands so full and the encroaching blackness around her, and so she turns and heads back towards the cabin.

She’s less than twenty feet away when she stands on something that gives way beneath her foot and falls flat on her back.

“Oof!”

There’s enough snow to cushion her fall and protect her from serious injury, but when she tries to sit up there’s a twinge in her back and she winces as she lies back down still clutching the wood. That’s when she catches sight of the smoke lightly floating from the cabin chimney as it billows silently out into the evening air.

“What the hell?”

Rising gingerly, she stalks back into the cabin with a scowl, dropping the wood on the mat as soon as she makes it in the door. “Why didn’t you tell me you found some wood?”

Serena stops tending the fire in the hearth long enough to open a vast cupboard in the alcove beside the chimney breast. It’s stacked at least four feet high with dry wood, has an extra shelf for old newspapers and firelighters and Bernie’s mouth hangs open.

“Ms. Wolfe...” The woman flashes a teasing smile as she shakes off the snow and shrugs out of her wet coat. “I couldn’t possibly deny you the chance to play big macho lumberjack, now could I?”

She side steps the couch and swipes up a box of extra long matches from the coffee table. Considers how much she might have unintentionally postured today in front of this smart and capable woman who she’s clearly misjudged. After all, she has to admit, frozen hands a pile of wood alone do not make a fire.

“Touché, Ms. Campbell,” she says, pointing the box of matches at the woman and unable to help a matching smile. “Touché.”

* * *

 

When the doorbell sounds, Elinor jumps up and rushes to open the door. She’s extremely disappointed to find someone other than her mother on the doorstep.

“Robbie?”

“Oh, hi, Elinor,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s a little nervous.

“What are you doing here?” she demands, arms folded and eyes narrowed.

“Your mum invited me.”

“Er... yes, I’m aware of that,” she drawls, wondering how this meeting might have gone had her mother opened the door. Clearly he thinks she doesn’t know anything, probably wasn’t expecting her to be here to begin with. His inability to take no for an answer makes her skin crawl, but she’s certain Serena is more than capable of giving him his marching orders, again, just as soon as she gets home. “But... I’m  _ fairly _ certain those kinds of offers don’t apply  _ after you’ve broken up with a person! _ ”

“I - I just thought -” he stammers, but she just rolls her eyes, continues standing right in the doorway, blocking any kind of entry.

“Well, she’s not here anyway. She’s on her way back from the hospice.”

“Not unless she’s driving a  _ tank _ ,” he says with a scoff and her heart drops into her stomach. “I barely made it here in my Land Rover.”

She leans past his shoulder and stares out into the snow, weighs up how late her mother is, how dark and blustery it’s gotten, and how long it’s been since Serena supposedly left with someone...

“You’d better come in,” she says, finally stepping aside.


	7. Chapter 7

Serena finds a small first aid kit in the cupboard under the bathroom sink. It’s years old probably and not quite what she’s used to, but after a quick rummage through its contents she decides it’ll do.

When she returns to the living room, she finds Bernie has taken over tending the fire and is trying to rearrange the flaming wood pieces with a poker, like she hadn’t placed them in the optimal burn configuration or some such silly thing, but then she’s not a  _ bloody _ Girl Guide. She’d simply thrown a haphazard pile into the hearth and set fire to it as quickly as possible in order to feel some warmth in her fingers, so the woman’s probably doing them both a favour, she just isn’t going to say so. The fact that Bernie had waited until she’d left the room to do it, however, is sneaky and underhanded and, well, something  _ she’d _ do, truth be told, if she thought she knew better. 

“Busted!” she snips and Bernie spins around, caught and flustered. Her rosy red cheeks are quite something in contrast to the black shirt she wears.

“I haven’t - I wasn’t -”

“I don’t care,” she dismisses with a little hand wave and a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She perches on the corner of the coffee table and nods meaningfully at Bernie’s wrist. “But I  _ do _ insist on looking at that wound.”

The blonde sets the poker aside with a shrug. “I’m fine, it’s just a scratch.” 

With the kit beside her leg, Serena pats the nearest sofa cushion and pulls Bernie away from the fire. “Sit down here please.”

“Okay, okay,” the woman relents, sitting down opposite. “But the blood probably makes it look worse than it is... and I’ve had  _ far _ worse, believe me.”

“Just let me have a look,” Serena sighs, frankly unsympathetic to injuries the woman might have sustained in prison, though one at least was very serious if the scar that peeks from beneath Bernie’s open shirt collar is anything to go by. She turns back the shirt cuff, easing gently as the dried blood sticks and pulls at the skin. The woman doesn’t appear in any way squeamish, doesn’t look away, but rather watches intently as she pokes and prods the edges of a congealed gash that is at least an inch long. “That’s pretty deep,” she murmurs worriedly, recalling the old and rusted metal of the tractor. “How long is it since your last tetanus vaccination?”

Bernie smiles, almost, an unconvincing and tepid sort of half smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m all up to date, I assure you.”

“Good. Well, I’ll get you cleaned up, and then -” She tears open several individually-wrapped alcohol wipes and cleans out the wound with a practiced ease and no-nonsense efficiency.

“Ow!” Bernie winces, hissing through her teeth.

“Sorry,” Serena mutters, aware of how the blonde continues to watch her every move with interest. Had she the equipment on hand, she’d pop a couple of stitches in just to be safe, but as it is, a large elastoplast will have to suffice.

“- you should see a doctor as soon as you get home.”

“ _ You’re _ a doctor,” Bernie says and Serena sits straight up. The blonde’s eyes are narrowed but there’s no question in her tone.

“Consultant Vascular Surgeon,” Serena states proudly and Bernie’s eyebrows lift.

“An  _ impressive _ doctor.”

She peels back some of the plaster’s covering, places the gauze part over the injury, and with a jerk of her head says, “Put your finger there for a moment.”

Bernie does as she’s told, still with an odd look in her eye, as Serena removes the backing and fully adheres the plaster. They’re still sitting close together when a powerful shiver runs through her and she realizes she hasn’t even removed her ruined and sodden shoes.

“You must be freezing,” Bernie says, her voice soft and low as Serena packs up the first aid kit. “Go and take a shower. Get out of those wet clothes.”

Serena chuckles as she stands but Bernie is persistent, gesturing around at the items they’ve already found and used.

“There might be some spare clothes or a pair of pajamas stored somewhere that you can change into.”

Now she really does laugh. “A  _ cold _ shower and a stranger’s nightie, how could I resist?!”

Bernie’s cheeks seem to colour a little and she clears her throat, shucks a thumb over her shoulder towards the kitchen. “I spied a water heater in there, so it should be hot.”

“Really?” Serena gasps, pressing a hand to her chest, a little stunned at the good news. It feels a bit like winning the lottery after the day she’s had, a bit like it did when she was upset and desperate and the blonde had offered her a lift. It feels too good to be true.

She’s almost all the way out of the room when Bernie calls her back.

“Serena?”

Something about the way the blonde says her name prickles every nerve ending, like it’s somehow exotic and…  _ new _ and her pulse does a funny hop-skip as her brow creases.

“Yes?”

“I really was just trying to help - I didn’t intend for any of this to -”

She waves Bernie off. She’s disappointed, of course, immeasurably so, but the woman’s expression is so terribly earnest it sends an involuntary flush across her chest. “We can - let’s draw a veil over it, shall we?”

Bernie nods and smiles briefly, looks instantly a little more relaxed, as if they’ve cleared the air of something, though Serena can’t pinpoint what that is amidst the thick atmosphere that hangs between them as they hold each other’s soft gaze.

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” she echoes, before breaking away and hurriedly leaving the room.

* * *

 

 

Bernie can hear Serena rummaging through a store cupboard in the hallway as she removes her ankle boots and props her feet on the coffee table to warm her cold toes in front of the fire. She listens as the bathroom door snicks closed shortly after and rolls her eyes as the lock turns.

Closing her eyes, she sinks deeper into the couch. The ambient noise of the shower running and the delicious heat in her feet would be enough to lull her to sleep, but the image of Serena peeling off her blouse pops into her mind and she opens her eyes with a shake of her head.

When her stomach rumbles a few minutes later, she’s glad of the excuse to rise and occupy herself with something other than the ridiculous imaginings of a woman she just met - an attractive woman, admittedly, but a stranger nonetheless - a woman who, at best, is infuriating and confrontational and, at worst, might be capable of getting right under her skin.

She heads to the kitchen in the hopes that there is something they can eat. She’s not one for cooking very much - the effort seems pointless for one person a lot of the time - but she finds herself eager to try.

Two cupboards over from a tiny 2-ring electric oven she discovers they’re in luck, to a certain degree.

There  _ is _ food, but everything is in tins or packets and a couple of items in particular make her screw her face up in disgust. She takes out a Batchelor’s pasta ‘n’ sauce, which will do in a pinch and shouldn’t be too awful if distant memory serves.

After a cursory look at the packet’s instructions, and then around the room, she realizes there’s no microwave, so she grabs a pan to cook it on the stove before tearing open the packet and dumping out the contents. She clearly remembers adding water to this mix many years ago, but the next two listed ingredients make her heart sink.

“Shit.”

She doesn’t expect there to be any butter or milk in the fridge, and yet she can’t help but grimace as she checks anyway and finds it bare. With water alone this isn’t likely to be amazing, but, she reasons, it’s still a better option than some of the alternatives in the cupboard. Just the thought of asparagus soup is enough to make her shudder.

She adds some water and turns on the heat. Stirs it well to mix in the powder and hopes that enough seasoning will cover any obvious shortcomings. Still, she has a feeling that Serena may not look kindly on her efforts and wonders how long the remaining tension between them might continue.

It takes a while for the mix to start bubbling, and so she checks the few remaining cupboards for anything else that might come in handy while she waits.

There is no crockery that she can find, only plastic picnicware that looks like it’s been here since the seventies - just like the orange patterned lino and the dark wood decor - and she picks out plates and cups and places them on the small dining table along with some cutlery that’s seen better days.

She finds some instant coffee and wonders if Serena would take it black or decline due to the lack of milk. Thinks they could both drink water at the very least, but then both ideas are quickly discarded when the final cupboard reveals a dusty bottle of red wine. She grabs it with a grin, plonks it down on the worktop with a noticeable thud and sets about searching for a corkscrew.

As the pasta continues to soften and the sauce thickens, she leans in to the stove to give it a good stir. Only… it doesn’t smell anything like she remembers, doesn’t smell good  _ at all _ in fact, and she reaches to pick up the empty packet as a horrible sense of dread swirls in her gut.

Just how long  _ has _ this cabin been vacant?

Checking the packet, she finds it’s not years out of date as she’d suddenly feared. Instead, she realizes that the green label she’d just assumed denoted the broccoli and cheese variety she’s familiar with, in fact, doesn’t.

“Ugh... pesto.” Still, it might taste better than it smells.

As Bernie continues to stir the pasta, she hears the bathroom door open and turns to find Serena in the doorway. 

The woman leans casually against the frame in a fluffy red dressing gown. With wet hair and devoid of all makeup she is strikingly beautiful and for a second Bernie can’t breathe.

“Hi,” the brunette says, smaller and softer somehow than Bernie has seen and heard all day.

When she doesn’t immediately respond, Serena’s breath hitches and she strokes the hair at the back of her neck as her cheeks colour.

Tearing her eyes away, Bernie turns back to the stove. “Have you warmed up a bit?”

“Yes, I’m feeling much better,” Serena replies and Bernie can feel the woman move across the kitchen behind her towards the table. “You were a chef in prison?” Serena asks and she’s glad the brunette can’t see the reaction on her face.

She doesn’t know why she said she was a car thief; given the circumstances it just seemed more efficient at the time. No lengthy explanation had seemed necessary and that’s all that had mattered. She doesn’t want to deliberately prolong the deception, but she doesn’t correct it either as she responds with truths that don’t exactly help dispel the lie.

“I used to make this for my kids whenever I could get home for a visit. I never really learned to cook, to my mother’s everlasting annoyance.” She smiles at the memories and offers a little shrug. “I guess I just never had that much interest in it. My children were  _ very _ patient with me. We had a lot of takeaways delivered.”

Serena sits down at the table with a light sigh. “My mother was a wonderful cook and I learned what I could from watching her in the kitchen. She travelled Europe extensively and picked up recipes along the way. She loved anything with garlic, and whether it was French, Italian, or Greek, she could cook it all from memory…”

Bernie turns, thinks there might be more information coming, but one look at the sadness on Serena’s face tells her everything she needs to know.

“Oh, look what I found -” she says, filling the silence as she reaches out, grabs the wine and waves it in the air. “I think the owners left it for us.” Serena’s eyes light up as she sits the bottle down on the dining table and quickly dispatches the cork. She pours them each a cup and hopes it might soften the blow of a very personal question that she can’t help but ask. “Is that who you were visiting today at the hospice, your mother?”

“Yes,” Serena replies flatly, confirming all of her suspicions as she turns off the stove and fills two bowls.

“How’s she doing?” she asks as she approaches the table, waiting for Serena to swallow a big gulp of wine before receiving an answer. When it comes, Serena’s tone is cutting and final.

“She’s fine.”

She places the bowls on the table and takes a seat. “Well, dinner, such as it is, is served.”

“I noticed you set the table,” Serena says, the beginnings of a mischievous glint in her eye. “You’re very domesticated for a former criminal.”

Bernie smirks, takes a sip of her wine as Serena picks up a spoon. “And you are looking beautifully relaxed for someone who seems lost without a horde of minions to order about.” She says it lightly, almost lets out a chuckle at the thought, but when Serena looks up sharply she freezes. It’s a look that she suspects has probably finished off a person or two in its time. And she’s just made herself the next in line.

“I - I’m  _ so _ sorry. I don’t know why I said that. It was  _ totally _  unfair.” She cannot comprehend her brain’s own betrayal and silently wishes she had died out by the wood pile.

Serena sets down her spoon, food untouched and voice unnervingly calm as she says, “What did you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have said it.” Bernie shakes her head, keeps her eyes on the table as she quickly slurps more wine. 

“Please,” Serena pleads, making her look up to meet dark eyes. The brunette bristles, like she isn’t a stranger to insults and has had plenty of practice at pretending it doesn’t hurt. But Bernie senses some vulnerability too, some uncertainty in the way Serena’s brows are pinched more in confusion than anger, in how the muscles dance a little, like she doesn’t really know why anyone would think that of her, and she’s not even sure she wants the answer.

But then Serena gives a little nod, mind made up. “I - I’d like to know what you meant.”

“Um, well…” She clears her throat. Though her discomfort is self-inflicted, she suspects Serena might just appreciate a certain directness. “I have some experience of women in authority,” she starts to explain, “both professionally and - and, um, personally, so I can usually recognise them a mile away.”

Serena’s reaction is fairly subtle; just a single raised eyebrow and a slight jut of her clefted chin, but Bernie knows she’s onto something from the arrogance in the woman’s tone as she sits back and folds her arms. “And what am  _ I... _ in your  _ educated _ opinion?”

She peers up from beneath her fringe with a warm smile, tries to keep her tone non-judgemental, after all, they’re more similar than Serena realises.

“You’re the easiest type to read; you always need to be in control.”

Serena reaches out for her wine and the smug smile falls away.

“You’re a high-flying over-achiever. If I hadn’t discovered your profession, I’d have said you were a Managing Director or CEO -”

Something about that seems to strike a nerve and Serena swallows hard.

“- but now I know you’re a consultant, so I’d say you probably run a very tight ship, that you expect and conduct a strict adherence to policy, and that the people you manage sometimes think you’re cold and unfeeling.” Bernie trails off a little towards the end, realizing that someone somewhere has probably said all of those things about her.

She takes another drink, notes Serena’s gaze has dropped to the table, and decides to try and lighten the mood. “I also have a strong suspicion that if anyone crosses you professionally, you’d remove their liver while they were sleeping and devour it with a nice chianti.”

“Ha!” Serena scoffs, flashing a brief smile as that eyebrow lifts again. “Shiraz, maybe.” However the seriousness is swift to return. “But the rest is  _ absolutely _ not true. I think I’m a very  _ warm _ person, I’ve just been under a  _ lot _ of stress lately.”

It’s a statement that, despite the obvious contradiction, elicits a lot of empathy in Bernie. She knows what that kind of emotional strain can do to a person, what it can  _ make _ you do. How it changes who you are.

“And what about  _ your _ life, anyway?” Serena adds with surprising venom, “Who are  _ you _ to criticize me?”

“Well...” she pauses, slowly drops her head forward and then gives it a shake as she concedes, “my life isn’t the mess it used to be, but it’s not perfect.  _ I’m _ not perfect.”

Serena downs the last of her wine and practically sneers. “I’m not  _ interested _ in being perfect.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and means it as she refills both of their cups. It feels like she’s been saying that a lot today. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” Serena snips, refusing to look up and Bernie’s happy to let the subject lie.

Almost at once both women start to eat, tucking heartily into their bowls of pasta. The first mouthful is enough for Bernie to realize it really  _ doesn’t _ taste any better than it smelled. It’s revolting, and she’d swear it’s not just because of a lack of ingredients.

Serena chews slowly, faring no better if the disgusted look on her face is anything to go by.

“Your children used to eat this?! Didn’t they make a fuss?”

“Yes - no - well, sort of. Did I mention we ordered takeaways a lot?”

“Tell me about them,” Serena says as she continues to eat, and Bernie has to assume the woman is starving, because she’s certainly not just eating to be polite. It really  _ is _ terrible.

“Well… Charlotte is the youngest,” she says, washing down her food with a mouthful of wine. “She’s trying to be an artist and works in a gallery in London. Cameron, the eldest, is twenty-five going on four. He finished medical school last year and is –  _ was _ \- dating a registrar.”

Serena’s eyebrows lift at this information and she nods as if in approval.

“He’s a great kid, they  _ both _ are, even though I sometimes feel as if I can’t take much credit for that. They grew up a lot while I was gone and then once I got back they kind of just... moved on without me.” She gulps some more wine, feels the creeping tension of guilt wind its way into her neck and shoulders like it hasn’t for a long time. She tries not to think about it these days, tries to keep herself too busy to dwell on her career choices and old mistakes, tries not to sound too sorry for herself when she adds, “I never was mum of the year material.”

“None of us are,” Serena replies, a sympathetic edge to her tone all of a sudden and Bernie doesn’t mean to keep talking but she can’t stop.

“I was there for them when I could be -”

“You were at both births for a start,” Serena chimes in, breaking the tension so well she barks out a laugh.

“Ha, funny! I don’t see as much of them as I’d like, but I know they’re happy and that’s all that matters. What about you?”

“Oh, well…” Serena stops eating and takes a hearty drink. “Elinor is my only child. She can be… challenging, always was. But she’s got a good heart. Last month she was an actress. This month she’s a journalist. I’m seriously hoping her New Year’s resolution is to pick one and stick to it before I have to declare bankruptcy!”

Serena’s delivery makes Bernie chuckle, and yet she can’t help but marvel at the glint in Serena’s eye as she talks about her child, can’t help but stare at the lines that crease the sides of Serena’s mouth as she smiles around every word.

“And then there’s Jason, my nephew.” Serena plays with her food for a second, beaming down into her pasta as she twirls her spoon. “He’s my favorite person in the whole world. He has Asperger’s Syndrome, which presents an entirely different set of challenges, for  _ everyone _ , but he’s lived with me for quite a while now and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

So they both have a boy and a girl, she muses, though it sounds a little more complicated on Serena’s side. “You never thought of having another after Elinor?”

Serena sighs. “Edward and I tried for a little while. He didn’t really care either way, but I longed for Elinor to have a little brother or sister almost as soon as she was born. Sadly, it wasn’t to be.”

She doesn’t ask the reason why, knows there’s a litany of possibilities and that some of them might be acutely painful. It’s a minefield that she will not tread, but then, there are always alternative ways of looking at things.

“Maybe you weren’t meant to have another,” Bernie suggests and Serena tilts her head, a perplexed crease between her brows. “Maybe being a surgeon means you were meant to save the life of somebody special instead, someone who might save the world, or invent a cure for Alzheimer’s.” She pauses to take a drink, watches Serena swallow hard as her words hit home. Softens her tone as she adds, “Maybe you already _ did _ . Or maybe... you were simply meant to be there for your nephew.”

Nothing but silence follows, yet it isn’t uncomfortable. Serena looks almost flushed, and has her pinned with a look of wonder. She can’t look away, doesn’t want to.

“Thank you,” Serena murmurs, visibly moved. “I’d never thought of it that way.”

“You’re very welcome,” she husks in reply, ducking her head for a moment and breaking their connection.

Serena looks like she’s going to say something else but is interrupted by a tree limb crashing through the window.


	8. Chapter 8

The three of them stand in her mother’s living room, Robbie still in his coat, Elinor muses, as if he’s not staying (and he’s not), whilst the latest weather report blares from the television.

_ ‘A low-pressure system unexpectedly moved up from the south and this is why we’re seeing heavy snow, blowing snow, and the possibility of whiteouts. We’re up to sixteen inches already in some areas -’ _

“How long ago did she leave?” Robbie asks, turning to her suddenly with a grave look on his face.

She rubs fingers over her forehead, wishes she could recall the exact time she rang the hospice. “I’m not sure exactly... two hours, maybe three?”

“Three hours forty-seven minutes,” Jason states, peering down at his watch as her eyebrows lift.

_ ‘Local authorities are recommending you stay off the roads due to very slippery conditions. Visibility in some areas is already very poor -’ _

Robbie inhales, long and loud, like he’s weighing things up as he continues to stare at the screen. Letting out a puff of air, he shakes his head as if rejecting any notion of something untoward having happened. “If I know your mum, she’ll have pulled over somewhere safe and will be waiting it out in the car.”

But Jason chips in again. “Auntie Serena’s car is here. Elinor drove us home.” The heavy frown he’s been wearing since Robbie stomped into the room lightens a little, and she doesn’t blame him for enjoying telling the bullish off duty policeman how wrong he is.

It does no one any good to make it sound as if Serena is stranded alone in the wilderness though, so she adds, “She got a lift with someone.” Although her mother absolutely should have been home by now, so clearly something went wrong.

When Robbie picks up the remote control from the coffee table, again, and turns the television  _ off _ , she scowls hard and barks, “What are you doing?”

It’s bad enough he turned up at all - nobody wants him here, well, her mum might have slightly different, possibly more complicated feelings on the matter, but  _ she _ certainly doesn’t care for him - and not content with disturbing Jason’s viewing of the Dr. Who Christmas special, he seems to want to continue controlling the situation.

“I’m going to go and look for her,” he gruffs, stalking towards the door and Elinor throws her hands up.

“I thought you said you barely made it  _ here _ ?”

He turns briefly in the doorway. “I’ll be alright, I have four wheel drive.”

“Then I’m going, too,” she says, folding her arms and lifting her chin, but he steps back into the room and waves her off.

“No, no. Just stay here with Jason. I’ll call as soon as I find her.”

When he turns to leave again, she puts her foot down. “She’s my  _ mother _ . I’m going.”

“I’m coming, too,” Jason insists, moving to stand behind her shoulder and she can’t help but smile. He loves his Auntie, and she loves that he inherited the McKinnie gene for stubbornness. Knowing Jason’s uniqueness is something which Robbie apparently couldn’t cope with is, well, just the icing on the cake.

Robbie sighs and strides away down the hall but they are quick to follow. “Can we please not fight over this?” he says, stepping outside as Elinor grabs her coat and keys.

As soon as Jason grabs his own coat, she pulls the door closed behind them.

“We’re not fighting. We’re  _ going _ .”

* * *

 

“I’m going to need you to help me hold this,” Bernie yells from outside and Serena cringes.

It doesn’t feel that long since she fought off her chill, and just clearing up all the glass has left her shivering from the gusts of ice cold air and snow blowing in.

“Out there?!” she squeaks and Bernie’s frustration is clear.

“YES!”

“Oh... okay,” she says, dithering for a moment. Should she get dressed, or just go outside in the dressing gown? Will it make much difference? She’s going to end up frozen again anyway. 

“Are you going to be long?” she hears Bernie call, and a pang of guilt hits her in the chest.

“Hold on,” she shouts, moving back to the living room, shucking off the dressing gown, and hustling to put her clothes back on over her underwear.

The blonde has been trying to help her all day it seems, albeit with limited success, but now that she’s had time to calm down, she can see how the other woman still hasn’t given up trying to make them both more comfortable. It doesn’t seem fair to let her make repairs alone when they’d get it done much faster working as a team.

Bernie yells again as she’s slipping on her shoes and coat. “Serena!”

“I’m coming!”

She skips through the kitchen and out the back door to where Bernie is holding a sheet of plywood up against the window frame. “Here I am,” she breathes, a small cloud billowing out in front of her face as the cold shocks the breath from her lungs once more.

“Alright, don’t slip,” Bernie says, waving her over and then gesturing at the side of the board closest to Serena. “Just hold this right there.”

“Here?” she checks, taking its weight as the blonde nods. “Okay.”

She watches as Bernie retrieves some rusted old nails from her coat pocket and a hammer from between her knees.

They were lucky to find anything related to home maintenance or DIY, she muses, considering how the entire cabin looks as if nobody has touched it since 1979, but the cupboard under the stairs - if you can call them that - was like a time capsule of things left behind. Still, even old nails seem to do the trick, and Bernie makes quick work of hammering four or five along the length of the board on her side of the window.

She hadn’t been convinced of its usefulness at first, as Bernie had used the small claw hammer she’d found to prise it from the back of an old sideboard in the living room. She’d argued the logic in dismantling someone’s furniture, and Bernie had argued being exposed to the elements again after everything they’d been through, insisting they follow her motto of ‘using whatever will do the trick.’ But she stands corrected now, impressed because it certainly will keep the weather out, as Bernie gestures for them to switch places.

“Press here,” Bernie instructs, making sure the board is flush with the outer sill and frame.

“Like that?”

“Yes, that’s good,” Bernie murmurs, wielding her tool much closer than before.

“Watch the hands, please!” Serena sings and Bernie chuckles.

“Yes, Doctor.” As she knocks a nail in the bottom corner, Bernie says, “This cabin must be really old. I bet Howard and Millie are, too.” 

Serena frowns. “Who?”

“The couple who own this place,” Bernie replies, meeting Serena’s eye for a moment before taking a step closer and moving to knock a nail in higher up. “I imagine Howard’s granddad built it years ago. They come down here once a year and they sit by the fire, eat their dinner, and play a little Scrabble. Millie knits while Howard tells old army stories and, uh... then they go to bed.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Serena grumbles and Bernie’s eyebrows lift in challenge.

“Oh, you can do better?”

“Yes, I think so.” Serena grins in response to a smirk, and talks as Bernie inches closer and reaches up past her arm to knock another nail in. “Their names area... Alex and Robin,” she starts, noting how Bernie’s eyes widen for a second. “Alex’s dad built this place years ago and he’s bringing his new bride down here for their first holiday. They plan to light a thousand candles -”

“And burn the bloody cabin down.”

“Excuse me, this is  _ my _ story now,” she snips, swatting away Bernie’s mutterings and doing her best to conjure as romantic an image as possible. “They’re going to listen to Melody Gardot all night long. Alex likes to play guitar as Robin sings along, and Scrabble is something they enjoy playing in between eating a delicious meal, sharing a bottle of wine, and... making love.”

Bernie’s gaze lingers and she notes how close together they stand, how Bernie hasn’t swung the hammer since her little story began, and how their billowing breaths mingle in the air between their faces. She recalls the board game they found stowed away with all the other miscellany and junk and a flush heats her cheeks.

Not a second later Bernie steps back, looks away, and clears her throat. “Ahem, well... you have a very active imagination for a woman of science.”

She drops her arms, assumes the board will stay put now with a few nails in it at least, and meets the backward compliment with one of her own. “And I suppose you’re quite sensitive for an ex-criminal... Marine... pessimist.”

Bernie doesn’t respond, just smothers another smirk and Serena starts to consider just how little she knows about this mysterious woman. “So, you, uh - you never told me what you actually did for a living.”

Bernie nods like she expected the question. “Ah... would you believe me if I said I was a builder?”

“No,” she replies without missing a beat, eyeing slender fingers that look pinked and painfully frozen.

“Oh, really?”

“ _ Those _ are not the hands of a builder,” she points, stabs at the air with a finger of her own before folding her arms and trapping chilled hands under her armpits to keep them warm.

“Well, you’ve got me there,” Bernie chuckles. “But these hands  _ have _ done some hard work and dirty jobs I can assure you.” The blonde knocks one last nail in, stretching as far as she can reach on her tiptoes, before standing back to admire her work as the wind continues to whip her hair about her face. “There!” 

“You’re finished?” Serena asks, excited to get back indoors.

“Yep,” Bernie beams, and Serena claps her hands.

“Wonderful!” Making an immediate about turn, she takes one step and loses her footing on a patch of ice. “Oof!”

Strong hands come to catch under her arms from behind, saving her from falling all the way as she tries to get purchase in her godforsaken heels. “I’m fine! I’m fine,” she professes. “Steady hands, clumsy feet!” But Bernie’s hold doesn’t leave her, just shifts to the side and suddenly she’s off her feet entirely and being carried bridal style.

“Hey! Put me down.”

Bernie huffs a sigh, and the puff of warm air so close to the side of her face raises goosebumps in places she’d thought were numb.

“It’s freezing out here. I want to get inside.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking -” Serena argues but Bernie shakes her head and trudges forward. 

“We both know that’s not true.”

Clasping her hands behind Bernie’s neck, she holds on tight as the blonde takes careful steady steps. “I’m wondering how many times you have offended me today.”

She feels Bernie shrug a little as she mutters, “Unintended.”

When they come to a halt, Bernie jerks her chin forward and softly says, “Could you get the door please?”

Serena reaches for the handle, lets them inside, and can’t contain a laugh as they cross the threshold. “You know... no one’s picked me up since I was a little girl.”

“That’s a shame,” Bernie husks, holding her gaze as she kicks the door closed and gently lowers Serena back to her feet. “You need picking up now and again.”

She doesn’t mean to sweep her hands either side of Bernie’s neck as she unclasps them, but the move sends a tremor through the blonde regardless. Just the touch of chilled skin, she tells herself as she brushes them unconsciously down the entire length of Bernie’s arms.

When Bernie lets her go, removing the arm that’s been holding their upper bodies together, she doesn’t fully understand the wave of disappointment that rolls in, doesn’t even think to question the pull that makes her lean forward, bringing them close again as she stares at pink lips, holds her breath...

And Bernie leans in, too... just a fraction, like she might... but then she steps to the side, strides past Serena and heads for the bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” the blonde says as she rushes away, leaving Serena to stare after her wondering what just happened. 


	9. Chapter 9

It takes them forever to reach Holby Manor.

It’s not that Robbie’s Land Rover can’t manage through the snow - they make better progress than she imagines they would had she and Jason taken Serena’s Saab convertible to try and rescue her mother - but the whipping winds and pitch darkness make it almost impossible to see much past the front of the car and so they just crawl along.

When they do finally arrive, Robbie leaves the engine running and leaps straight out as soon as the car comes to a stop.

“I’m just going to see if they’ve heard anything,” he says, his head ducked only part way in the open door, before he slams it closed and jogs away.

Elinor sighs as she checks her mobile phone for the hundredth time, hears Jason grumble from the backseat.

“She isn’t here or she would have called us.”

He sounds frustrated, and she feels it, too. Chances are good this is a pointless trip, and they’ve wasted a great deal of time without locating her mother. Still, “We don’t know what happened,” she says, her tone calm and even for Jason’s sake as she hides the anxiety that bubbles low in her gut.

“We’re missing the World’s Strongest Man semi-final,” he states and she turns in the passenger seat to look at him properly.

Knowing how much a familiar routine helps to keep him happy and grounded feels insignificant all of a sudden. There’s so much she doesn’t know, hadn’t  _ wanted _ to know, if she’s honest, so resentful was she in the beginning that her mother had taken him in and instantly treated him like her own child.

One tiny, solitary thought pops into her head that she might one day lose her mum and, next thing she knows, it’s just her and Jason. A man not much older than herself. A man with whom she’s conducted a relationship mostly by phone for almost the entire time she’s known he existed. Because she’s selfish, because she made any excuse to leave, because she let her mother deal with a difficult situation alone.

But as she watches him stare out of the window into the dark, looking worried and so, so innocent, she feels the weight of responsibility settle upon her. He is her family, and all she wants is for him to be okay. Robbie wouldn’t accept it, and Serena couldn’t accept  _ that _ , but she welcomes it, promises she’ll do better. She’ll  _ be _ better from now on.

“Did you set it to record?” she asks softly, and he turns to her with a nod and a smile.

“Yes. I record every episode.”

“Well then,” she sighs in relief, “you can watch it later, once we find mum and get her home.”

“The food will be cold,” he adds and she fights the urge to roll her eyes, just smiles kindly instead.

“We can reheat it, Jason. Don’t worry.”

They are both startled by the driver’s door being yanked open as Robbie jumps back in.

“They haven’t seen or heard anything, but they said she left in a small  _ sports car _ , like a Jag or something.”

Elinor’s stomach drops into her feet. “That can’t be good.”

“Well, we’re not giving up just yet. How about we try a different way back, see if they took another route?”

Elinor nods glumly, before remembering she’s not the only passenger. Turning in her seat again, she asks,  “Is that okay with you, Jason?”

And he nods firmly, a look of optimistic determination on his face. “Yes. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

 

“ _ Unravel _ ,” Bernie drawls, lips pulling slowly on every syllable as she pulls her finger away.

She doesn’t know what she was thinking when she’d foolishly suggested doing it on the kitchen table. If asked, she’d have to say she was momentarily distracted, possibly delirious from almost-hypothermia. Serena’s idea of spreading out on the coffee table in front of the fire was, of course, the best and most obvious option.

With her feet now bare, she wiggles her toes in delight. The brunette’s insistence that she feel the warmth of the fire for a while is much appreciated as she stretches out on the soft pile rug that covers a large area of the lounge floor. 

“That’s 12 points,” she says, pushing the letter L into place on the Scrabble board. Jots down her total and grins teasingly up at Serena perched close on the edge of the couch. “I think that puts me in the lead.”

“Oh, dear...” Serena breathes, peering down at a final hand of tiles like they’re nothing but a useless disappointment. But then the pause ends and she moves every single tile, one by one. “Q. U. I. Z. Blank. Z. E. S.” The woman mutters low under her breath and then flashes a devilish smile as she says, “I think you’ll find that’s fifty bonus points and I win.”

“What the...” Bernie gawps. 

Serena throws her head back and laughs brightly. “Double letter, double word, every tile,” she points out, clearly enjoying Bernie’s shock.

“Bloody hell, you’re competitive!”

“Not really,” Serena replies, still chuckling to herself. “But I am fairly unbeatable at Scrabble. It’s Jason’s favorite game, so I get a  _ lot _ of practice.”

Bernie leans back on her hands and gazes admiringly. “You are just full of surprises.” She means it as a compliment, but then words aren’t her strong suit and for a second she thinks she’s buggered this up all over again as Serena frowns hard.

“Why, because I beat you? Because I’m a surgeon?”

“No,” she insists, emphatically shaking her head as she sits forward. “Because you’re smart and tough without being afraid to be feminine.” The word  _ beautiful _ hangs on the tip of her tongue.

It’s something she’s struggled with throughout her life; feeling the pressure that comes with being a headstrong woman, trying to conform versus the innate instinct to rebel against stereotypes. There never was a happy medium and it took a long time to feel comfortable in her slightly tomboyish skin and just be herself.

“Some women seem to have a hard time with that,” she adds, shy and self-conscious as restless fingers pick fluff from the rug, like Serena might see straight through her if she looks up. The more she learns about this attractive woman, the more she envies her confidence and how put together she is. 

When Bernie does look up, Serena meets her eye, smiling softly and with cheeks a light and very becoming shade of pink. It’s enough to make her next words leave her mouth without much thought. “Your husband was an idiot for leaving you.”

Serena blinks, tilts her head. “Thank you,” she murmurs after a pause and the tension that had formed between them earlier comes roaring back.

“You know,” Bernie sniffs, breaking away again to point at the game still laid out beside them. “I will bet you chocolate chip pancakes at Connie’s that that’s spelled incorrectly.”

Serena leans back with a gasp. “You eat at Connie’s?!”

“Every Saturday morning,” she nods, giving a head tilt as she quickly follows up with a correction. “Well... not so much lately, but...”

Serena doesn’t make her explain when she trails off, says softly, “Huh, that is  _ so _ odd. We live in the  _ same _ area, we go to the  _ same _ café, and yet we’ve never ever met.”

“Reverse fate,” Bernie shrugs, knowing those aren’t the only things they have in common. “Have you ever had the chocolate chip pancakes?” she asks, feeling a little brave, but Serena just scoffs.

“No, I’m an adult. Though I will admit to having a sweet tooth -”

“Well, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I only ordered them at first to make someone  _ else _ happy, but they’re  _ so _ wonderful. You really should try them.”

“I think I might,” Serena breathes, holding her gaze. “If we live through  _ this _ .”

Now it’s Bernie’s turn to scoff because they’re going to be fine, but Serena’s hyperbole makes her smile.

“Meet me there a week on Saturday,” she blurts, taking a leap that makes her pulse spike. It doesn’t mean anything, she promises, except maybe the chance to make a new friend, and perhaps get Ric off her back. “I want to see the look on your face when you take that first bite.” She humours Serena’s exaggerations with a little one of her own. “We’ll eat chocolate chip pancakes together and thank God we’re alive.”

Not for the first time, something about the heat in Serena’s warm eyes unsettles her. It can’t be real, she swears. It’s just part of the hang up that remains from the endless fights with herself about her sexuality. It’s not real.

But then Serena breaks into a breathtaking smile and says, “It’s a date.” Sticks out a hand for Bernie to shake, and she doesn’t think twice about taking it.

She grasps gently and gives a gentle shake. Lets her thumb skim soft, warm skin as the touch lingers, as Serena doesn’t let go.

It takes a sharp crackle from the fire to break them apart.

“Um... ahem, how about one more game?” she says, scooting herself a little further away on the rug and crossing her legs.

But Serena rises, smoothes down the hair at the back of her neck. “Oh, I - er - I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead.” The woman bends to pack away their game and Bernie stands, teeth gritted, as she feels another twinge in her back.

“What time is it anyway?” the brunette asks, breaking into a yawn.

Bernie checks her watch and her eyebrows lift at how quickly the time has flown. “Um... it’s almost twelve.”

“We should get some sleep,” Serena sighs, and Bernie looks over to the corner of the room, to the log ladder that is supposed to pass for stairs.

“You take the bedroom,” she insists, shucking a thumb towards the little mezzanine loft area that constitutes the cabin’s only sleeping quarters as a yawn overtakes her too. “I’ll stay here on the sofa.”

“Why you?” Serena squeaks, straightening suddenly.

“Well,” She rubs her brow, quickly considering how to explain. “I probably have a lot more experience of bunking in places that don’t have proper beds,” she says, noting how stupid it sounds even to her own ears. It’s not a lie exactly, but she also knows an army tent cot doesn’t really compare to even an on-call room bed.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Serena grumbles, shaking her head and wagging a finger in the air. “I’m not falling for that.  _ I’ll _ take the couch, because I’m not about to climb up  _ there. _ ”

They wouldn’t both fit on the sofa, not without being pressed very close together and Bernie wishes that image would bugger off as she folds her arms in challenge. “So how do you want to sort it out?”

Serena plops back down on the couch, smiles with mischief as she bends and plants her elbow on the coffee table. “I’ll...  _ arm wrestle _ you for it.” 

“You’re having a laugh,” Bernie scoffs as Serena jerks her chin and continues to smile.

“Come on.”

“No!” she exclaims, thinking the suggestion entirely ridiculous.

But Serena just wiggles her fingers, her mind apparently made up. “Yeah.”

“Alright,” she drawls, trying not to smirk as she kneels back on the rug and plants her elbow on the table too. “It’s your funeral.”

“We’ll see about that,” Serena murmurs as they lean in and take hold of each other.

Any remaining notion that this is just a joke flees at the strength of Serena’s grip. Adjusting her fingers, Bernie tries to ignore how close they are again in this position. “Ready?”

“Yep.”

She sucks in a lungful of air, and pauses... ...

“GO!”

They both push hard and she feels her face redden with the strain of holding Serena off. They’re more evenly matched than perhaps she’d assumed at first, but then that seems to have been the theme of the day. Snap judgements and misconceptions.

Serena gives everything she has, if the series of grunts and groans the woman lets out is anything to go by, and Bernie feels herself start to get pushed back.

She could twist her wrist, she thinks, make the move she once employed on the cockiest young men under her command. It was a sure fire way to knock them back down a peg or two when several winning hands of poker didn’t do the trick.

But that’s the last thing she wants to do to Serena - even if she did lose at Scrabble. This woman doesn’t deserve to be knocked down. Ever. And so she tries a fraction less and forgets to tell her face.

It doesn’t take much longer for Serena to force her hand down to the table top, and the woman throws her hands in the air. “YES! Ha!”

“Who’d have thought it,” she pants, sitting back on her feet. She’s not familiar with welcoming defeat, but the look of utter joy on the brunette’s face is worth it.

Serena throws herself back into the couch with a self-satisfied grin. “It’s not the dog in the fight, it’s the fight in the dog,” she proclaims, and Bernie’s matching grin slowly morphs into a grimace as she fully realizes the consequences of what just happened.

Standing once more, she turns to peer up at the steep stairs, rubs her back and groans. “Ugh. I’m not feeling very tired all of a sudden.”

“Well... okay then,” Serena sings after a short pause, shifting over and patting the sofa cushion next to her. “Just... stay here with me and we’ll...  _ wait _ to be rescued.”

She doesn’t think twice about falling down into the couch.


	10. Chapter 10

They’ve been driving for miles, taking several routes that Elinor isn’t familiar with at all, and they haven’t seen a soul.

She can’t see why anyone would come this way when there’s an obviously shorter and more direct route in and out of Wyvern Village, but Robbie seems to know all the back roads and wants to check every single one.

“They had to have come this way,” he grumbles as he hunches over the steering wheel.

“I can’t even see the  _ road _ ,” she huffs, leaning forward as if the extra inches will help see past the curtain of white that rains down around them.

She’s not even sure what it is they’re looking for, until the tail lights of a car half buried off the side of the road come slowly into view.

“Oh my god,” she breathes. Whatever it is it’s not a Jaguar, she can tell that much at first glance. Can see how someone would have to guess the make, if this is what they’ve been searching for half the night.

“That’s got to be the car,” Robbie rushes, snatching off his seatbelt as the vehicle stops.

She follows when he jumps out and hears Jason do the same behind her. Clearly they’re both of a mind not to let Robbie run off and leave them again, as if  _ he’s _ the only one doing the rescuing. Just because he drove doesn’t mean she won’t be taking any credit thank you very much.

It takes a second for him to yank the door open, dislodging a heap of snow that covers his feet. “It’s empty,” he says, slamming it closed again, frustration seeping into annoyance. “There’s no one here.”

“Oh, thank god,” she breathes, a small cloud billowing from her mouth as she shivers.

When he’d suggested earlier that her mother might be waiting this storm out in a car, she hadn’t been overly worried. It would be a sensible form of shelter, surely, if stranded in the wilderness. But seeing it, the metal body glistening with ice crystals and the tiny windows frosted over, she’s suddenly aware of how lucky they are not to have discovered a frozen body inside.

“I think they trekked on foot,” Jason says suddenly, pointing at a trail of footprints that most definitely aren’t theirs. “We just have to follow the clues.”

“My mother doesn’t  _ trek _ ,” Elinor scoffs.

“That’s not true,” he says, shaking his head. “She walks with me through the park sometimes when I need to go to the newsagent.”

“Just go and wait in the car,” Robbie says, trying to usher them both back to the vehicle. “I’ll go and look for them.”

“Not a chance,” she replies, pulling up the hood of her parka and slipping a pair of gloves from her pocket.

“But it’s freezing,” he moans, frowning hard and squinting as an icy blast whips around them. “Just wait in the car!”

She turns to Jason, watches with a smile as he zips up the final three inches of his coat and pulls on the toggles of his hood until only his eyes and nose are visible.

“Nope,” she asserts as she turns back to him, before starting to walk away in the direction of the trail. “We’re going with you.”

“FINE!” Robbie yells, “But we’re not wandering out here for long, it’s too dangerous. If we don’t find any sign of her soon, we’ll have to come back in the morning.”

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” she hears Jason ask.

It’s ridiculously easy to predict Robbie’s arrogant response as she ducks her head, hides beneath the cover of her hood, and mouths the words.

“I _ am _ the police.”

Rolling her eyes, she picks up her pace and trudges on a little faster. “MUUUUUUUUUUUUM!”

* * *

 

 

With her head resting on the back of the couch and her feet propped up on the coffee table, Serena wiggles her warm toes in front of the fire as Bernie comes in from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs.

“Ah,” she sighs, having listened to the blonde noisily give the kitchen another once over in search of a second bottle of wine. “No luck then?”

“Sorry,” Bernie smiles as she places one cup on the table and joins her on the couch. “I hope you like it black.”

She watches as Bernie stretches out too, lays long legs out next to her until their bare feet are side-by-side. “You said your son was studying Medicine… does he have a specialty in mind yet?”

“God, no!” Bernie chuckles. “I’m hoping his F1 rotation might help with that.”

“I’m sure it will,” she says, letting her head fall to the side and offering an encouraging smile.

Most parents don’t easily grasp the trials of becoming a doctor, and despite whatever distance remains and the struggles they’ve been through with Bernie’s jail time, she gets the feeling that Bernie has made an effort to understand her son’s career path. It pains her to recall her own mother hadn’t been quite so generous, offering nothing but criticism for years on end about her choices and the way she prioritised her work.

However there is one memory that warms her heart.

“I had an early start,” she explains, voice soft and wistful. “My mother bought me the game Operation when I was six. I played it every hour of every day until it completely wore out. My first day in scrubs I knew what I wanted to do. That desire to be able to perform intricate surgery, something that required a precise and delicate touch, had never really left me.”

Bernie turns and smiles, a teasing glint in her eye. “I’ll bet you were cute as a child.”

She barks a laugh as she reaches for her coffee. “Not  _ at all _ . I was most definitely a late bloomer and, trust me, puberty was  _ very _ unkind.”

“Same here,” Bernie chuckles as she sips her drink. “I had spindly legs, wore braces, and was disappointingly flat-chested. We would have been a match made in heaven.”

“It’s a pity we didn’t meet as children,” she muses, staring off into the fire. It’s a strange idea, given the rapidly growing feeling that she’s known this woman much longer than a day. 

Clearing her throat, she leans and puts the mug back on the table. It was a nice gesture, but she doesn’t  _ really _ want to be awake  _ all _ night. She wants to make the most of tomorrow, wants to make the Christmas dinner she had planned and spoil her family.

Wondering whether or not she’ll ever be able to take Adrienne home makes her heart sink, makes her sigh. “I don’t have much left to give my mother, except visiting her as much as possible.”

“I’m sure she needs you just as much as you need her.”

The kindness in Bernie’s tone raises a lump in her throat and suddenly everything she’s been stuffing down for months starts to leak out.

“She’s  _ not _ fine. That was a lie to save my tears. The vascular dementia caused a stroke and she’s had two heart attacks in the last three months. The truth is she doesn’t know me anymore, she just sees some stranger who comes to visit.”

Bernie shifts so that’s she’s looking at her directly. Reaches out to take her hand and rubs a thumb over her knuckles. “She knows you,” the woman husks, heating Serena’s skin with her touch. 

It’s new and confusing and she pulls her hand away with regret. “You don’t know that,” she sniffs haughtily, catches Bernie swallowing hard in her periphery before the blonde bends and sets her half-empty mug on the table.

When the woman stands, Serena is stunned by the sadness on her face. “In her soul, your mother wouldn’t ever forget the child who’s occupied her heart for so long. Take this time with her, it’s  _ precious _ .” Bernie rubs her thighs as if giving restless hands something to do, before turning to take more wood from the cabinet as she adds, “I  _ do _ know... I’ve been there.”

The pain in those six words is palpable, and Serena feels herself well up. “... You have?”

“My father,” Bernie explains, keeping her face turned away as she add logs to the fire. “He was my whole world. He passed away at Holby Manor six months ago.”

Serena’s stomach drops. “Oh god, I’m _ so _ sorry,” she says, pressing a hand to her chest as Bernie turns. “I – I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay.” Bernie flashes that kind smile again and offers a light shrug. “Why would you?”

Well, apart from the fact that Bernie was  _ at _ the hospice today and -  _ oh god _ \- it doesn’t take a genius to work out why. Shame heats her cheeks and she lets her face fall into her hands with a silent groan as Bernie prods at the fire once more with the poker.

Given how successfully she’s put her foot in it, the silence that follows isn’t as awkward as it should be. There’s none of the discomfort she deserves, and she realises she hasn’t felt this free to just be herself with anyone in a very long time.

She doesn’t mean for her eyes to sweep Bernie from head to toe, doesn’t intentionally linger on long, slim legs as the woman leans an elbow on the mantelpiece, but she can’t help herself. She only really stops looking when Bernie huffs a sigh and returns to the couch.

“It was Dad who first made me order the chocolate chip pancakes,” she explains, sweeping up her mug again and staring down into it as she holds it with both hands. “Mum died a long time ago - car accident,” she adds, waving off the aside, “- and any time we ate out we’d reminisce about her cooking. I’d meet him at Connie’s for a catch-up and every week he’d try to get me to order the pancakes and joke about how they couldn’t possibly be better than Mum’s. Eventually I gave in.” She rubs the rim of her mug with a fingertip and smiles for a moment. “They  _ were _ delicious, and it just became a running joke after that; I would order the pancakes and he would steal some off my plate.”

Bernie inhales a long, tremulous breath and Serena tries not to stare as the blonde clears her throat and seems to tamp down her emotions. Her brows draw together as she waits, curiosity and concern beating a path through her veins.

After several gulps of coffee, Bernie looks over to her with a look of pain that she recognises all too well.

“One week he called to say he was running late, so I went ahead and ordered, and when he arrived it was like he’d never seen me eat them before. I remember he laughed and said, ‘don’t worry, I won’t tell your mother,’ and I thought it was a joke at first, but it started happening more and more after that. The week he called me by my mother’s name all through breakfast was the same week I took him to see his GP and demanded they do some tests.”

They sit in silence for long seconds, Serena not knowing what to say and feeling like she could cry, for both of them. She is not alone in her pain, in the specific brand of emotional torture that this horrid disease breeds, that much is horribly clear. She wants to take up Bernie’s hand, wants to hold her, somehow, and make it better, but she daren’t.

“My mother started calling me Marjorie,” she blurts quietly, peering down at the hands clasped in her lap. “The first couple of times I didn’t think anything of it. She was active and sociable, she had a lot of friends, and sometimes…” She hunches her shoulders and raises her hands, drops them with a sigh as regret fills her heart. “Well, sometimes we  _ all _ get a name mixed up.”

When she looks up, Bernie’s warm brown eyes blaze with understanding, like she knows where this story is going but she couldn’t be more wrong.

Swallowing hard, Serena breathes deep and continues. “The next few times, I told myself she was just confused, that it was a symptom of the stroke. But then, she deteriorated so quickly, it was hard to reconcile the before and after. This name that I had never heard before in the fifty years I had known her was suddenly the only name she could remember.”

She sighs hard and rubs her brow. Some admissions are hard to make and, as much as she wishes she could go back and do things differently, there is not a single thing she can change.

“I looked after her at home for a while, but she - I was, um, at the time I was Deputy CEO of the hospital  _ and _ running my own ward and I couldn’t -” She fights back a well of tears as Bernie’s eyebrows pinch in sympathy. “I insisted I could cope to anyone who questioned me, but in reality I was drowning in paperwork and had forgotten what a scalpel looked like. I stepped down soon after, but even then I - I couldn’t provide the amount of care she needed and Robbie helped me move her to the hospice.”

“Robbie?” Bernie murmurs, and Serena feels her cheeks warm as she watches Bernie stare down into her mug.

“My  _ ex _ ,” she explains, her tone certain and sour. “It’s not important,” she mutters, softening as Bernie turns back to her, dark eyes full of hope and fear.

She sucks in a deep breath and tries to slow her racing heart.

“When we unpacked her things there was an old photograph of my mother with a tiny child that wasn’t me. Nothing made sense for a long time after that.”

She sniffs and fidgets for a moment, rubbing her hands as she pauses.

“The next time she called me Marjorie she was yelling at me to leave, saying I had to go because  _ Serena _ was coming and she didn’t want us to meet. It didn’t take long after that to discover Marjorie was a real person, and that I had a half-sister I never knew about. Robbie helped me to track her down, but -” She sighs hard, feeling that same sense of loss all over again. “She’d died a year earlier.”

When she looks over, Bernie’s eyes are understandably wide. It had been hard to take everything in at the time, and still is.

“That’s how I found Jason, Marjorie’s son. He was living in this  _ horrible _ bedsit and I - I just couldn’t leave him there.” She smiles sadly as she shakes her head. “It felt like everything in my life had spun out of control. Robbie couldn’t accept him as my family and we broke up, then Elinor couldn’t accept him in our home and she moved out.” When she throws her hands up again and lets them fall in her lap, Bernie is quick to take her hand and she’s so, so grateful. “I’ve tried  _ so _ hard -”

Bernie’s touch is firm as she cuts in, a thumb stroking her hand. Grounding. Reassuring. Like falling and being caught. “Whatever happened, Serena, it’s not your fault.”

“Thank you,” she says, letting out a puff of air that turns into another yawn. Resting her head back on the couch cushion, she rolls her head toward the blonde. “I think I’m just going to shut my eyes for ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Bernie smiles, moving as if to take back her hand but Serena holds on tight. “I’ll take the first watch,” the woman adds softly.

Some time later, she’s only vaguely aware of being covered up. Doesn’t really register the faintest of kisses being pressed to her temple as she snuffles and curls deeper into the softness of the couch.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Monday, December 25, 2017_ **

She wakes as the sun is rising to find Serena still asleep on her chest.

When the snoozing woman had changed position and begun to lean on her last night, she’d had a moment of panic. But it had felt so natural to welcome Serena’s weight and warmth into her arms that any thought of impropriety was quickly pushed aside. Instead she’d reached over the back of the couch and dragged her long coat over them. Had told herself it’d be rude to disturb her anyway, that Serena deserved a night of peaceful rest. Had pressed her lips without thinking to the woman’s head as she’d murmured and wriggled as if dreaming. Had closed her own eyes and tipped her head back on the couch at the feeling of Serena burying further into her front.

Even now she doesn’t want to move. She’s content to trace the beautiful lines of Serena’s face with her eyes, to let her fingertips play with a little cowlick of untamed, sleep-mussed fringe. Wonders for long moments about this sense of comfort, this feeling of rightness between them and whether or not it’s something she could have every day. Whether she could hope to hold this woman every day.

Not thinking about the alternative is hard. About whether this is all just a result of their situation and the mix of heightened emotions. She understands why this might  _ feel _ real, knows all about stress and high pressure incidents and what can happen in the moment. Realises that after some time has passed the bigger picture can quite often look very different.

There’s no denying the things they have in common, the unique ways in which they understand each other. But to  _ hope _ , well… hope is perhaps where she should draw the line. For now.

When Serena shifts, she takes the opportunity to slide off the couch and waits quietly as the woman settles back down alone. She drags her boots out from beneath the coffee table and slips them on before collecting up the mugs and tiptoeing into the kitchen.

Dishes washed and coffee made, she adds several logs onto the embers that thankfully still glow from last night and stokes the fire to take off the morning chill.

When her coffee is gone, she’s careful to retrieve her car keys as gently as she can from one of her coat pockets and can’t help but sweep the hair across Serena’s forehead with a finger before she slips on the woman’s coat and quietly leaves.

* * *

 

 

The morning is crisp and calm, but still frightfully cold as she trudges towards her car, closing in on a snow-covered heap that barely reveals the brake lights. The sun is bright, the sky is beautifully blue, and thankfully it is no longer snowing. 

The six inches of snow that encase her vehicle look as if they’ve been disturbed by the passenger door and at first she thinks maybe it just fell under its own weight. But then there are footprints too; an indication that maybe someone passed by here in the middle of the night.

There is nothing in it worth stealing, and yet she appreciates her father’s advice about leaving it unlocked in situations such as these. ‘They’ll get in if they want to,’ he’d say. ‘At least this way they haven’t busted a lock or broken a window that is hard to replace.’ She hadn’t truly taken it to heart, but, not knowing when she might make it back to retrieve the priceless car, she’d gone with her gut and luckily it had paid off.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, she tries the engine but it’s dead. A flat battery most likely, thanks to the frigid overnight conditions. She just hopes there’s no lasting damage or anything beyond repair from the accident. The thought of having to let this car go completely makes her heart hurt.

Leaning over to the passenger side, she opens the glove box and retrieves a battered cigarette packet before slamming it closed and falling back into her seat with a sigh.

When she opens the packet, there’s a lighter inside nestled beside a single, solitary cigarette. It’s not a surprise. Just like it’s not the first time she’s been in this position - toying with temptation. And it’d be so easy to light up, she thinks, to just wind down the window and give in. But she has so many conflicting feelings about what that might mean, about the promises she’d once made to herself, not to mention she’s wearing Serena’s coat. That alone is enough to make her stop, and she realises this might well be a very big turning point in her life.

She collects her keys and climbs out. Trudges back in the direction of the cabin as the craving niggles at the back of her mind like a twitchy nerve. Maybe holding the cigarette will fool her brain enough to make it go away she muses with an audible grumble, walking the rest of the way with it dangling, unlit, between her fingers.

* * *

 

 

The first thing she does when she wakes is smile.

She is warm, comfortable, and surrounded by the most beautiful scent. It is several long moments before she stretches, opens her eyes, and realises she’s on the couch alone.

“Bernie?” she calls as she sits up, holding what she assumes is a blanket to her chest, but quickly discovering it - and the source of the smell - is in fact Bernie’s coat.

Pushing it aside, she stands and pads through to the kitchen, noting signs everywhere that the other woman has been here.

“Bernie?” she calls again, hearing nothing but the crackle of the fire as she returns to the living room.

With some urgency she throws on her shoes and strides outside. There she finds a single set of footprints leading away from the cabin and her heart sinks.

She wraps her arms around herself and exhales in a rush as the shock of the cold registers through her thin blouse. “Bernie? Bernie!” she shouts, but the blonde appears to be long gone.

Shivering, she heads back into the cabin and leans heavily against the inside of the door as soon as it closes. Whatever she felt when she awoke has vanished, replaced with a stifling disappointment she is hard pressed to justify. Suddenly feeling like someone has sucked the oxygen out of the room, she has to sit down and heads back to the couch.

Last night she’d thought, well… she’d thought she wasn’t alone anymore, literally and figuratively, but clearly she’d been mistaken. She’s never been the type for one night stands but she can imagine this is what the morning after feels like. And it’s ridiculous, because nothing happened.

Well, not  _ nothing _ .

She remembers waking in the middle of the night and finding herself pressed against the sleeping blonde. She doesn’t know how long Bernie had stayed up after she’d dropped off, doesn’t know quite how they came to be lied down together so closely. She just recalls shifting as she momentarily considered getting up, before being enveloped in strong arms that had instantly wiped the notion from her mind and encouraged her back to sleep.

It had all felt so natural, so right. What else was she to do? It had not even occurred to her to question lying with a woman, or even wanting to kiss a woman; there  _ was _ no question. Robbie hadn’t made her feel like this, not even close. And, she wonders, if she can feel like this after one night, what else might lie in store?

She lets herself fall and lies back down. Covering herself once more with Bernie’s coat, she pulls the item all the way up to her face, buries her nose in a bunched handful of the soft material and inhales. Tries to convince herself that Bernie will return.

* * *

 

 

When the door opens, she sits bolt upright and twists around. Watches as Bernie sweeps in and stomps the snow from her boots on the mat.

When the blonde looks up and meets her eye she seems to freeze. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” she breathes, excited but nervous. “How are y - I mean, how did you sleep?”

Bernie nods. “Very well. You?”

“Very well,” she replies, holding up the coat still clenched in both hands. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome,” Bernie smiles, her eyes as warm as her tone.

For long moments she thinks Bernie is going to say something else. The way the woman looks at her as she cradles Bernie’s coat is almost possessive. But suddenly the blonde’s eyes go wide and she exclaims, “Oh!” She quickly slips off Serena’s coat, retrieves something from the pocket, and lays the coat over the arm of the couch as if to return it.

Serena isn’t sure what else to say. Despite last night’s ease with each other, the atmosphere now feels too polite. Restrained.

“I thought you’d left,” she states plainly, plumping for honesty as a way to address what she thinks is the elephant in the room.

Bernie approaches the coffee table, puts down her keys, and shucks a thumb over her shoulder. “I walked back to the car. I think the battery’s dead.”

“Right,” she nods, feeling very silly because _of_ _course_ that’s where Bernie went. “What do we do now?”

“Well...” Bernie throws another couple of logs onto the fire and turns, holding a cigarette between her fingers as she talks. “The bad news is I don’t think Greater Holby Highways Department owns a snow plow. And if they do, it certainly hasn’t been this way yet. But the good news is I think I know where we are. And as soon as I warm up a bit we should probably hike back up to the main road and see if we can flag someone down who will give us a lift.”

“Well that confirms it, then,” she offers cryptically, smirking as Bernie frowns. “I’m crossing  _ mechanic _ off my list. I mean, not that you look like one,” she adds, backpedaling and gesturing with a pointed finger. “Apart from the fag.”

Bernie shakes her head. “Oh, I’m not -”

“Although I think you’re supposed to light it,” she says brightly, but Bernie doesn’t use the lighter, just looks at the floor.

“I’ve - ahem - I’ve had this cigarette for four years. My husband made me quit and I tore up every cigarette I had except this one. Thought I’d keep it as a symbol of my freedom, of my old independent self. Dad was so happy when Marcus and I divorced that he asked me if I was going to smoke it, but I still felt… not entirely myself. And then I met Alex…”

She frowns hard. “Alex?”

“It didn’t go anywhere. I wasn’t - I wasn’t really ready, but she forced me to come out.”

Something clicks, and Bernie’s reaction to the name makes sense. Ignoring the skip of her heart, she realizes it doesn’t sound as if the blonde has had any more luck in the relationship department than she has herself. “It sounds as if you’ve had to be very brave,” she says, unable to imagine what it’s like to come out, but understanding all too well the courage required to see through a divorce to the bitter end. 

Bernie doesn’t respond, just puts down the cigarette and lighter on the mantel. She has such an odd and serious expression on her face that Serena decides this mustn't be going where she’d thought it might, and so she stands intending to put on her coat so they can leave. 

“I’ve been known to light up a time or two after an extremely bad day,” she says, trying to be conversational and not quite managing to cover her disappointment. “Yesterday was stressful, I get it.” 

Bernie steps towards her as she reaches for her coat. “Serena -”

But she waves her off. Can’t meet her eye. “It’s _ okay _ , I mean, we can agree it was just  _ one special night _ -”

“Serena, no,” Bernie cuts in and she turns, discovering how close they are. “That’s not what this is -”

“It’s just -” She steps forward without really thinking, unable to ignore the pull. And the desire burning in Bernie’s eyes is something she can’t fight.

Leaning in, she hesitates for only a second before pressing her lips to Bernie’s mouth. Kisses her like she’d wanted to last night and feels her heart soar as Bernie kisses her back.

With her eyes closed, she wraps an arm around Bernie’s shoulders, feels Bernie’s hair sift through her fingers as firm hands slide over her back. She moans into Bernie’s mouth at the first sweep of the woman’s searching tongue and then vaguely registers a tapping noise at the window as she hears Elinor shout.

“Mum! MUUUM!”

Pulse racing, Serena’s head snaps around as Bernie steps away.

Elinor grins as she waves excitedly through the glass, flanked over one shoulder by Jason, who is smiling brightly, and over the other by Robbie, who has his arms crossed and wears a thunderous scowl.


	12. Chapter 12

Elinor is a good-looking girl; a brunette, just like her mother, and with a cleft in her chin that is frankly  _ uncanny _ . 

She’s also tall and  _ very _ slim, so it makes total sense for her to be occupying the middle seat in the back of the Land Rover as Bernie climbs in, though it’s no less awkward when the girl gives her a wide grin.

Bernie fastens her seatbelt and looks up as Robbie says, “You were very lucky to find that cabin.”

He stares into the rear view mirror as if talking to Serena, but the brunette doesn’t seem inclined to respond, just busies herself with situating her handbag as Bernie voluntarily fills the silence.

“It probably saved our lives.”

“We would have been  _ fine _ ,” Serena grumbles, and she can’t help but smile.

“We would have frozen to  _ death _ ,” she says, peering around Elinor’s form as the girl looks back and forth with interest.

Serena turns with a teasing eyebrow sharply raised. “You’re a half empty kind of gal, aren’t you.”

“No,” she grins, holding Serena’s gaze, impressed that the woman remembered her own words well enough to use them against her. “I know that snow melts and life goes on...”

It takes Robbie clearing his throat to break their connection and she drops her eyes to her lap.

“I, uh, I left some money to pay for the window.”

“And the door, too, I hope,” Serena snips, and she looks up to find the woman’s eyes pinned on her again with an amused glint that warms her insides.

“You’ll probably need a tow truck for your car,” Robbie interjects, and she turns to find his eyes focused on the mirror again. “It was already buried pretty deep when we found it last night.”

“Oh,” she says, realising at once who it was had been inside her vehicle. “Yes.”

“We tried to track you,” Elinor explains, “but your footprints only led us so far and we had to turn back.”

Her stomach plummets into her feet as she catches Serena’s eyes widening. Knowing she’s responsible for having kept Serena from spending Christmas Eve with her family is a feeling she could do without. It probably wouldn’t help to explain how she’d convinced Serena to aide and abet the ‘borrowing’ of someone’s tractor either, so she keeps that to herself.

“It’s a silly car for this kind of weather anyway,” she says instead, steering them back to safer ground. “It was a gift when I graduated from university.”

“Wow, it must be  _ really _ old,” Robbie mutters, and she can  _ feel _ Elinor tense up at her side.

In the front passenger seat, Jason turns his head and in a very even tone says, “A 1970 Mazda Cosmo Sport Series II in pristine condition once sold for over £80,000. It is highly likely that Bernie’s car is  _ much _ more valuable than yours.” 

Elinor stifles a snort as Bernie’s eyebrows lift.

“He reads a lot of magazines,” Serena whispers to her, ducking behind Elinor’s head.

“Well,” she murmurs, swallowing down some of the emotion that talking about the car still seems to dredge up. “It’s not worth anywhere near that much, Jason, but it  _ is _ priceless... to me.” She turns back to Serena and meets soft, understanding eyes. “My dad gave it to me.”

They drive in near silence for the rest of the way, and Bernie is quick to point out her home once they reach Holbeck Close.

“That’s me there, on the left.”

“That’s your house?” Elinor squeaks and Jason twists around with a smile as they pull into her driveway and stop in front of the garage.

“Look, Auntie Serena. Bernie’s house is on your way to the hospital.”

She catches Robbie rolling his eyes. His whole demeanor has been impatient and unkind towards the young man and, saviour or not, she dislikes him already. Thinks Serena might have seen it too if the angry frown the woman is throwing in his direction is any indication.

“Yes, thank you, Jason,” Serena snips, and it’s definitely time for her to go.

“Thank you for rescuing us,” she says as she quickly climbs out.

When she turns to close the door, Elinor is grinning again and Jason waves through the gap between the front seats. “Bye, Bernie!”

“I’ll just be a minute,” she hears Serena say, and the woman hops out of the car as she crosses the driveway. “Let me walk you to the door.”

“No, no,” she insists, waving Serena away, not least because she doesn’t want the woman standing in several inches of snow again in shoes that do nothing to protect her feet. “Stay in the car, it’s fine.” But Serena follows her anyway and waits as she puts the key in the lock and steps inside the doorway.

When Bernie turns, Serena seems nervous, glancing sideways for a split second as if she’s concerned with how it looks, though she takes a step forward anyway.

“I - I just wanted to say... _ thank you _ . For the lift and - and for listening.” The way Serena keeps her eyes on the floor, how she sighs out those two words in particular, tugs painfully at Bernie’s heart, and she doesn’t care who’s watching as she steps out and tries to take Serena’s hand.

“Any time,” she breathes, startling suddenly as the car horn blasts and Serena snatches her hand away.

Stroking the hair at the back of her neck, Serena steps backwards. “Well, I’d - I’d better go,” she mutters, before turning to leave.

“Wait, wait,” Bernie calls after her and Serena turns. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you...” she says, determined to clear something up. Serena had been so open about her life, she thinks the least she can do is repay the favour. “I’ve never really spent time in prison.”

Serena blinks twice as her brows pinch together.

“I am -  _ was _ \- a frontline trauma surgeon. Iraq and Afghanistan.”

Serena shakes her head and then her brows lift as the penny seems to drop. “The army stickers. They’re yours - _ You’re _ the soldier.”

“Royal Army Medical Corps,” Bernie nods. She sweeps her hair behind her ear and salutes timidly. “Major Berenice Griselda Wolfe at your service.”

“An  _ impressive _ soldier,” Serena smiles, teasing her with a quote again before another frown clouds dark features. “Why on earth didn’t you say anything?”

Stepping forward, she reaches for Serena’s hand and lets a thumb stroke over soft knuckles. It feels just like it did last night. “I’ll never lie to you again,” she says softly. “I promise.”

Serena’s breath hitches and all Bernie wants is to kiss her as they hold each other’s gaze. But she doesn’t want to make Serena more uncomfortable than she already is, and so she lets her go and steps back. 

“So... next week?”

“Yes,” Serena nods with a smile. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

Bernie beams with relief. “Okay, good.”

“Bye then,” Serena says, offering a little wave as she heads for the car, and Bernie doesn’t move from her driveway until the car is completely out of view.

“Bye,” she whispers, her heart full of hope.

* * *

 

 

“Look, Robbie, I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done,” Serena says, rubbing her brow and sighing tiredly as she hangs her coat, “but I’m fine,  _ really _ . Now...” She ushers him out of the front door, unable to bear one more second of his scowling, sulking, and over-entitled male ego. “I’d like to get cleaned up and celebrate Christmas with my family.”

“I wasn’t trying to - I just thought, maybe we could -”

“Try again?” she asks, eyebrows high with disbelief. When all he can do is shrug, disbelief quickly switches to anger. “No, thank you,” she scoffs, slamming the door. “Bloody cheek!” she mutters, turning to find Elinor in the hallway, arms crossed and a huge smile on her face. “What?”

“So, what happened between you and Bernie?”

“Nothing,” she insists, passing by and entering the lounge. “We were stuck in the snow together. Well, in a cabin... near a farm... in the middle of a field.”

Serena takes a seat beside her nephew as Elinor lingers in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an odd expression.

“Didn’t look like nothing. She’s beautiful by the way.” 

Serena looks up, tries to act nonchalant, but she can hear the tremor in her own voice. “Is she?”

“I liked her hair,” Jason comments out of nowhere, and Serena’s head snaps around as Elinor bursts out laughing and disappears into the kitchen.

* * *

 

 

Bernie stands alone in her living room for long moments before pulling her phone from her pocket. Dialing a familiar number, she walks through the kitchen to the back door as it rings.

_ ‘St. James Trauma Unit,’  _ a voice says as she turns the key in the lock and steps outside.

“Hello, this is Ms. Wolfe. Can you put me through to Mr. Griffin’s office please?”

_ ‘Sure. Hold on.’ _

She strides out onto the lawn, enjoying the sharp crunch of snow underfoot, until she stops and takes out the cigarette packet. With the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, she places the cigarette between her lips and lights it without hesitation. Taking the phone back into her free hand, she takes a long drag and tilts her chin up as she blows smoke into the crisp morning air.

When her boss picks up the phone, she takes a deep breath.

_ ‘Bernie?’ _

“Ric. I’d like to officially request some time off.”


	13. Chapter 13

**_Saturday, December 30, 2017_ **

She hears him approach from behind with telltale footsteps that are as distinctive as his voice. Feels him stop and loom behind her shoulder as his tall figure casts an impressive shadow all the way up to Pulses counter.

“Henrik,” she drawls, one eyebrow raised high with curiosity, wondering what he wants as he waits in line.

“Welcome back, Ms. Campbell. I trust you had an enjoyable Christmas.”

“Mmm,” she murmurs with a smile, her mind instantly filled with Bernie. “ _ Very _ enjoyable, thank you.”

She shuffles forward a couple of steps as the queue diminishes, eager for the hot coffee that will banish the chill of her early morning start and the snow that still lingers outside. She hums along with the quiet Christmas music that emanates from somewhere behind the counter until an image of a different sort enters her mind.

“Oh...” she exclaims, turning to Hanssen with a smirk. “A little birdie tells me I missed quite the Boxing Day spectacle.”

“Yes, the, er, children’s ward had been terribly let down so, er, I stepped into the breach. Or britches to be precise. Your nephew was quite the enthusiastic helper.”

Jason’s description had been so vivid it was as if she’d been there in person to see the fur-rimmed black boots, the knee-skimming red velvet trousers, and the pasty white shins of her beloved CEO as he delivered last-minute gifts up on Pediatrics.

“He’s talked about nothing else ever since,” she chuckles, shuffling forward once more.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” Hanssen says with the hint of a smile and one eyebrow cryptically raised.

She wants to ask, but can probably guess what it is Jason must have shared. Sometimes she wishes he didn’t relate quite so well to the lanky Swede, but she knows in her heart it’s a good thing that he has someone like Henrik to look up to.

When she opens her mouth to speak, Hanssen simply jabs a pointed finger toward the counter and she spins to find it’s her turn to order.

“Latte with an extra shot please,” she says, leaning towards the server for a moment, before turning back to her colleague with a wide grin. “Well, I’m very sorry I missed it, and I’ll bet the kids loved it. I remember how excited Elinor used to get when she was very small and thought she was meeting the real Father Christmas.”

“How  _ is _ everything with Elinor?”

“Good,” she replies with a nod and a smile as a surprising realisation develops. “Never better actually.”

“Good,” he echoes. “I’m glad. Jason was right; you do seem different since your... incident.”

She frowns, unsurprised that Hanssen knows what happened to her on Christmas Eve - she’ll be lucky if everyone on AAU and the porters haven’t already been filled in about her locking lips with a stranger by now - but that’s what she gets for taking off the whole week of Christmas for the first time in years when her nephew was still scheduled to work.

“Different how?” she grumbles, her frown devolving into an angry scowl.

“You seem... lighter. Happier. I haven’t heard you hum in a long time, Serena.”

“Oh,” she says as her eyebrows rise, stunned by the little pang of guilt and affection she feels in her chest. Henrik is a remarkably good friend at times and has been for many years. She doubts many CEOs would be as understanding of her family and personal issues as he has been lately.  “Thank you, Henrik.” 

She accepts her drink and pays her money. Decides that now is the perfect opportunity to satisfy a certain curiosity that’s been popping up now and again over the past week. “You, um... you wouldn’t happen to know if St. Francis hospital has a trauma unit, would you?”

“I don’t believe so,” he states with a firm headshake, before peering down at her with a creased brow. “Why do you ask?”

She waves him off, ignores a pang of disappointment. “Oh, no reason.”

When she finally turns to leave she expects him to follow, but he lingers at the counter and she stops and turns back when she hears his order.

“One hot chocolate please,“ he says brightly, still clutching his briefcase in both hands as he rocks imperceptibly up on his toes like an excited child.

She doesn’t say anything when he turns to her, just lifts an intrigued eyebrow and tilts her head because, honestly, everything has felt a little different since her overnight stranding with Bernie and, it seems, that includes her place of work too.

“A little birdie made me promise to try his favourite drink,” he explains with a straight face, “in return for making him dress as an elf.”

It’s an image that makes her bark a laugh. She hadn’t seen Jason leave that day, had only discovered his outfit upon returning home after his shift. But she’d hugged him a little longer and harder and praised him for being a good sport at such short notice. Her heart had felt full at the time, and it does again as she leaves, chuckling all the way onto her ward.

* * *

 

 

Bernie stays in bed late because she can, because despite her internal clock waking her at an ungodly hour, she has been able to snooze on and off in between watching bits of television from beneath her thick, warm duvet.

Resting back against the headboard, she lounges for a long time, ignores the clock and the nagging guilt at not having gone for a run. But when lunchtime rolls around she’s well-rested and relaxed and it’s worth it, she decides, to have finally swallowed her pride and taken Ric’s advice, taken some time for herself, to do anything she wants, or do nothing if she wants.

It’s late enough that she doesn’t even curse when her mobile phone rings from atop the bedside table. Despite Ric’s assurances that St. James would, in fact, continue to function just fine without her, she knows her time off is bound to be interrupted by a trauma call at some point, but even that thought doesn’t faze her much as she happily makes a grab for the device and springs out of bed, feeling better than she has in a long time.

“Hello?”

_ ‘Ah, bonjour, Berenice! C’est Françoise.’  _

“Oh, hi, Françoise,” she replies as she descends the stairs.

_ ‘Ric mentioned you were taking some time off and I just thought I’d see how you were. Did you have a good Christmas?’ _

“Yes, I had a lovely Christmas,” she enthuses as she enters the kitchen and flicks on the kettle, unable to prevent the smile that lights her face at the thought of Serena. “Tell me all about yours.”

_ ‘Well, we had a house full, extended family on both sides you know...’ _

“Mm-hmm,” Bernie murmurs, wandering into the lounge and immediately zoning out at the sight of the empty wine glass on the coffee table.

She’d never really had much of a taste for red wine before, always preferring two fingers of whiskey in a short glass, preferring the immediate burn and fiery warmth in her belly. But after grabbing last night’s takeaway, she’d made an impulsive stop at the off licence and picked up the closest thing she could find to the bottle she’d shared with Serena. It had gone down well, had brought back a rush of memories from that night, a flurry of feelings from which she never wanted to be free.

It’s not difficult to imagine it could be Serena’s glass, she muses, as she lifts it from the table and inspects the dark red stain that lingers deep within. After talking long into the night, or watching a film, it would sit happily abandoned next to its counterpart, ignored until morning...

If only.

She sets the lone glass down and returns to the kitchen.

_ ‘... going to get together again for New Year’s Eve and I’m making my famous sherry trifle if you’d like to join us?’ _

“I’d love to,” she says with a smile and means it, intends to go, to get out of the house and make more effort with her friends. “And, um, maybe you can help me with something...” she adds, suddenly realising that Françoise’s Holby Council connections might come in handy with an idea she’s been thinking about a lot over the last few days.

_ ‘Oui, of course! What is it?’ _

“How would I go about finding the owners of an empty house?”

* * *

 

 

Jason continues watching television, but Elinor follows her into the kitchen and takes up a stool at the island as Serena starts to wash their dirty dishes.

Her daughter seems strangely glum this evening, playing with dessert instead of eating it as she watches the girl’s reflection in the window above the sink.

She thought they’d gotten past Elinor’s disappointment yesterday, thought all the sulking about Serena having to work through New Year was over. Admittedly, she hadn’t intended for her daughter to find out she was no longer Deputy CEO like that - spelling out how only the most senior executive staff had the privilege of being off for Christmas  _ and _ New Year - but really, how long was she supposed to feel bad about forgetting to mention it sooner? 

She’s been preoccupied and struggling for the better part of a year thank you very much, and she really  _ has _ tried to spoil both Elinor  _ and _ Jason these last few days to make up for missing Christmas Eve.

After a few minutes, Elinor drops her spoon into her bowl with a clink and says, “I’ve decided I’m going to stay a bit longer than planned, if that’s okay with you?”

Serena doesn’t turn around, just nods her head and smiles happily, relieved. “Of course it’s okay, darling. You know I love to have you at home.”

It’s been a challenge to get to this point, but with Elinor’s sudden change in attitude towards Jason she thinks she’d agree to have her daughter home permanently in a heartbeat if it was possible. But that would mean Elinor upping sticks and leaving London, and suddenly the suspicion that Elinor may already be in the process of tossing aside yet another career smothers her burgeoning joy beneath a wave of disappointment.

“But what about your job?” she gripes, not surprised when Elinor responds in kind, becomes snippy as well as sullen.

“I already called them. They said I can take some extra time off.”

“Okay,” she breathes, staring down into the suds, silently chastising herself for assuming the worst. Again.

It’s hard to get out of the habit sometimes, to not be pessimistic about the future given everything that’s happened to her family in the past. Still, things have looked brighter lately, and even if Elinor and Jason’s tentative bond revolves mostly around their mutual dislike of Robbie, it’s a start. And then, of course, there’s Bernie...

“I’m sorry, Ellie, I -” She shakes her head to herself as she turns away from the sink, feels her words evaporate as she looks up to find Elinor almost in tears.

She dries her hands and moves across the kitchen as Elinor chokes out, “I was really worried about you last week.” 

“Well, as you can see, I’m absolutely fine,” she says holding her arms out and wrapping her daughter in a hug. She pecks a kiss to Elinor’s head, feels her heart lift as the girl chuckles wetly. Feels it plummet two seconds later as Elinor speaks.

“When did I get old enough to worry about my  _ mother _ ,” the girl sighs, rolls her eyes and then wipes them as Serena steps away. “I  _ hate _ it, it’s weird.”

“Yes,  _ weird _ ,” she bites, turning back to the sink and slapping a hand down onto the worktop as Elinor’s thoughtlessness burns all the way to her fingertips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she sighs, hunched over and already regretting her outburst for the horridness that is sure to follow. 

“It’s not nothing. It -”

“Ellie!” she barks as she turns, her temper simmering. “You call home  _ occasionally _ . You worry a hundred miles and a hundred thoughts away from here. I see your grandmother almost  _ every day _ . I sit with her while she calls me  _ Marjorie _ , and asks me to bring her her skates. I watch the staff feed her and dress her as if she were a child. I don’t  _ worry _ about her... I’m a  _ part _ of her.”

“It’s not your  _ job _ ,” the girl scoffs and Serena’s eyes widen. “You don’t  _ have _ to -”

“That is not just  _ some _ woman wandering around lost out there, Elinor!” Serena yells as her anger boils over. “It’s Adi. Do you remember her? The woman who drove a hundred miles to Brownie camp to bring you Mr. Fluffy after you swore you wouldn’t need him... Or when you were six, and you were crying because you’d decided you were getting too tall to be a fairy princess -”

The memories are too much for Serena and tears start to run down her face. She swallows the lump in her throat and sniffles after a short pause, determined to finish, determined to say her piece, so overwhelmed is she by Elinor’s inability to understand or empathise. Somebody else can finish the dishes, she decides, piling up the last few items on the counter and making to leave.

“I don’t go there because I  _ have _ to, I go because she’s my  _ mother _ , and I haven’t finished needing her! I hope you never come to know what this feels like.”

She’s almost out of the door when Elinor calls, “Mum?...” and though she stops, just like the last time this happened, she doesn’t turn, just wants this to be over, for this empty, lonely feeling in her chest to go away. Doesn’t think her heart will survive any more hurtful words from the mouth of her only child. It does nothing but make her think of Bernie even more, makes her yearn for the woman who so effortlessly understood.

“I’m... I’m sorry that I wasn’t here more,” Elinor sobs. “I think I was afraid...”

Serena rushes back in and clutches the girl’s head to her chest once more. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. Shh, shh, it’s okay.” Her daughter isn’t as heartless as her words sometimes make it seem, and perhaps this week has breached the dam behind which Elinor has been hiding all her feelings.

She comforts her a while longer, remains attentive until tears run dry and the dark mood of earlier fades away with smiles and cuddles that have been a long time coming. The girl is losing her grandmother just as much as Serena is losing her mother, and she’s not blind to the fact that they’re all hurting. Still, it’s exhausting trying to hold them all together, and so, when everything seems to have calmed and the dishes are done, she decides to slink off upstairs to take a hot bath and some time for herself.

“Will you be okay here with Jason?” she asks, eager for the sanctuary of her bedroom, her favourite show and an early night.

“We’ll be fine,” Elinor replies with a nod and a smile, and Serena feels something lift.

They will. Together they’ll be fine.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting from my iPad so I hope I did this right. Fingers crossed there are no formatting issues!

* * *

_**Saturday, January 6, 2018** _

  
Pulled from gentle contemplation, from thoughts and hopes of what today might bring, Serena is drawn from a daydream by Jason entering the kitchen. Yanked back to the now lukewarm coffee she holds as she leans against the worktop.

  
“You’re wearing an awful lot of makeup,” he says, blunt as a hammer, before sitting down at the table and wiggling an index finger at her forehead. “Some of it has congealed in your frown lines.”

  
She blinks in surprise and then turns away and puts down her cup. Rubs two fingertips between her brows as she mutters to herself, “Bless you for that.”

  
“Is that a new blouse?” he adds, and she turns back with a sudden smile, nervous hands stroking the boldly-striped, silken fabric.

  
“Oh yes, you noticed! Do you like it? It was horribly expensive.”

  
“It’s actually just horrible,” he says, bursting the happy little bubble she’s been nursing inside since she woke up and remembered what day it was.

  
“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence,” she tuts, leaving the room and stalking down the hall to the mirror at the bottom of the stairs where she checks her makeup and straightens her new necklace.

  
“Why have you got a new blouse anyway?” he calls and she sighs hard. Because he knows why - it’s been clearly marked on the calendar on the fridge since Boxing Day - but her pride and burgeoning annoyance prevent her from admitting it.

  
“Because people do replace their clothes from time to time, Jason,” she snarks instead as Elinor skips down the stairs and stops behind her.

  
“Bernie will love it,” the girl says quietly, peering over her shoulder and grinning at her in the mirror.

  
Being so obviously transparent makes her stomach clench in embarrassment, makes her eyes drop as she murmurs, “She might not even be there.”

  
“ _Yes_ , she _will_ ,” Elinor says, making her look up again as she’s wrapped up in a hug from behind, the girl’s chin nestled softly on her shoulder . “And you look beautiful.”

  
“Thank you my darling,” she says, breathing the words out with a smile and covering Elinor’s hands with her own. “Will you- ”

  
“We’ll be fine,” Elinor says with a sharp shake of her head as she steps away and Serena turns to grab her coat. “Go. Enjoy your date.”

  
“It’s not - not -” she tries, but Elinor cuts her off.

  
“Mum… You’ve talked about nothing but Bernie for almost two weeks. It’s a date.”

  
“Okay, okay…” she says, waving a dismissive hand and pulling her handbag strap over her shoulder as Elinor guides her out of the front door.

  
She thinks that might be it, that she’s been teased sufficiently, but as she climbs into her car she sees Jason join Elinor on the doorstep. They both have their arms folded and sport matching grins, like they know something she doesn’t.

  
“Say hello to Bernie for me,” Jason calls, waving as she puts the key in the ignition.

  
She rolls her eyes and starts the engine when Elinor adds, “And don’t rush home!”

* * *

  
Bernie fights for an hour with the curling tongs Charlotte sent her for Christmas. Feels that the resulting ringlets are a little too Shirley Temple, a little too ridiculous for her liking, and for her age if she’s honest, so she gives up and runs her fingers through her hair over and over to get rid of them.

  
To her surprise, it’s not a bad result, and yet she hopes with a squint that a mess of unruly waves will come across as charming. After all, it isn’t like she’d just stepped out of a salon when she first met Serena. Goodness knows, having walked through a snowstorm and slept on a couch, it can’t have been her best look.

  
“She might not even be there,” she mutters as she stares at herself in the mirror, second-guessing the black skinny jeans and white button-down shirt she’d decided the night before would be nice enough.

  
“Smart, but not too dressy,” she’d reasoned.

  
“Casual, yet figure-hugging,” Françoise had agreed with an encouraging wink.

  
She plops down on the end of the bed with a heavy sigh and contemplates her plan B - It’s not too late to change, but is a different outfit really going to make much difference?

  
Plan C was to just not go, but that idea was tossed out of the window immediately upon waking early this morning, filled with so much nervous energy she’d already run two laps of the duck pond before realising she’d forgotten her hat.

  
No, she decides. She’s fine as she is - clean, pressed, and comfortable. She tamps down her anxieties and applies some light makeup. Recalls her friend’s ridiculous advice as she adds a little pink lipstick.

  
“If it makes you nervous,” Françoise had shrugged, “just don’t think of it as a date.”

  
 _Don’t think of it as a date_ , she scoffs, because that’s the crux of her problem. It should count as a date, shouldn’t it? She wants it to be a date. Hasn’t wanted anything more since the day she enlisted.

  
The thought makes her pulse pick up again, threatening to break her out in a sweat before she’s even left the house, and so she jumps up and heads downstairs in a rush hoping activity will make for a suitable distraction.

  
Grabbing her olive green coat, she steps out onto the driveway and opens the garage door. She backs out her metallic grey MX-5 and hides away the Cosmo. Spends altogether too long searching for the damned cover that her father always insisted on using to ‘put it to bed,’ as if it were a beloved pet hibernating beneath a warm blanket for the winter.

  
As she closes the garage door and locks up, she knows she should have retired it months ago. Can accept now, in the cold light of day and with the dark shadow of grief finally starting to lift, that the car cannot fill the hole left by her father.

  
She was lucky to have had it recovered and brought home completely undamaged after their little spin together in the snow and she knows in her heart, as she drives away and heads into town, that she isn’t leaving anything behind. Her father’s memory is with her wherever she goes, no more so than at Connie’s, and if he were here today, he’d be so happy for her.

* * *

  
“Major Wolfe!” the owner calls as she walks in, striding towards her with a bright smile as a bell tinkles behind her above the door.

  
She shakes his outstretched hand gladly, but bows her head, feeling a little shy from the use of her old title. “Bernie, please.”

  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, still holding her hand but gently clasping it in both of his. “I just haven’t seen you here in such a long time. Whenever I see you I still expect to see your father.”

  
“I know,” she replies softly, patting his upper arm with her free hand.

  
She doesn’t recall ever seeing the owner much, not prior to him and her father first meeting and getting along like a house on fire. But she knows he made an effort to come in on Saturdays more often after that. Not every week, not even close, but every time her dad’s face would light up and she misses those breakfasts in particular.

  
“I’m so sorry,” he says, looking genuinely pained as he steps away. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  
“No, no, no, it’s okay,” she assures with a smile, quickly realising that the memories must have been momentarily painted all over her face.

  
He turns and sweeps an outstretched arm behind her waist. “Table for one today?”

  
“Actually, I’m meeting someone…” she says, noting how his eyebrows lift.

  
“Well, come this way,” he says, ushering her forward. “I’ll give you a table. You can have some coffee and read the newspaper while you’re waiting for him.”

  
“Her,” she corrects as they come to a stop, and his eyebrows do another little dance while he grins.

  
She takes a seat in a quiet corner, an area that is noticeably less occupied than the rest of the room and she doubts it’s by accident. He lays out a menu and some cutlery as she removes her coat and swallows down a lump of emotion that has crept up into her throat all of a sudden.

  
“Uhhh-ahem. Do you still make chocolate chip pancakes?”

  
“Absolutely,” he nods. “Coffee?”

  
“Please,” she smiles, letting it fall off with a sigh as soon as he turns and rushes away.

  
It’s the wait that’s going to kill her, she thinks, craning her neck to try and get a view of the street. It’s the wondering when Serena might arrive that makes her wish she’d insisted on a table by the window so that she could see her coming.

  
It’s knowing she’s being ridiculous that makes her stay where she is.

* * *

  
Serena has driven past Connie’s Café twice already as she decides to make another circuit of the town centre. If asked, she’ll say she was looking for an empty parking space, when in actual fact she’s been looking for a distinctive and ridiculous old Mazda to allay any fears that she might have to eat brunch alone.

  
When she finds herself only a hundred yards away from the high street again without locating the classic car, Serena gives in and parks up by the kerb with a huff. There isn’t time for another lap, that would make her late, and though she certainly doesn’t want to appear too eager, she also doesn’t want to risk Bernie getting the wrong idea.

  
She climbs out and strides confidently along the side street to the corner, stopping in front of the newsagent to wait for a gap in the busy traffic. She can see Connie’s from here, can make out at least two heads at a table in one of the windows if she cranes her neck far enough, but neither of them are blonde.

  
She pauses as the lights change at the crossing up ahead, and feels her phone vibrate from deep within her handbag. Watching and waiting as the last few cars approach, she pulls it out and answers as she prepares to cross.

  
“Hello!”

  
_‘Mum, Adi’s had another attack!’_

  
“What?! When?”

_  
‘Just now. They’re taking her to the hospital. It sounds bad. You’d better hurry!’_

  
“Yes, yes, I’m on my way!”

  
Serena turns and runs as fast as she can back to her car, feels like her heart might explode with every step. She doesn’t even look in the direction of Connie’s as she pulls from the side street onto the high street and screeches past, her face wet with tears.

* * *

  
Bernie prods at the cold pancakes with a fork, one elbow planted on the table and her chin resting on her fist. She wanted to eat them, she really did. But more than anything she wanted Serena to try them.

  
When the owner makes another pass, trying hard to mask his look of pity, she waves him off. Neither her stomach, nor her nerves, will withstand any more coffee. She’s been here so long she probably won’t sleep for a week as it is.

  
Getting up to leave, she drops several notes on the table and exits without saying goodbye.

  
She feels pretty numb as she walks the short distance back to her car and climbs in.

  
Starting the engine, she reaches for a parcel on the passenger seat; a mess of silver tissue paper that covers a CD case. She wipes a single tear from her cheek as she removes all the wrapping and inserts the disc into the player. And then she listens to Melody Gardot all the way home, wondering what went wrong.


	15. Chapter 15

**_Sunday, January 21, 2018_ **

It’s been two hours since they returned home from church.

The front door hangs open as people come and go, and there have been more people than she ever could have expected. Colleagues, friends, and neighbours - both her own and Adrienne’s - not to mention hospice staff, Jason’s former carer, Elinor’s old student mates, as well as a few random acquaintances and, if she’s honest, more than a handful of people she doesn’t know from adam.

Bodies fill every room with hushed and reverent chatter as they stand around, all dressed in black, nibbling the last of the buffet food Serena had spent the pre-dawn hours preparing and laying out in the kitchen.

She moves among them with ease now that the awkwardness of well-wishes and hugs from almost-strangers is over, collecting up small plates and empty glasses.

She finds Elinor doing the same in the living room, whilst Jason sweeps the brittle crumbs of a dropped vol-au-vent from the arm of the sofa, a disgruntled frown scrunching his brow.

“Auntie Serena, you always say we have to eat at the dining table.”

“That is the rule, yes,” she sighs, knowing full well just how difficult today has been for him in particular. “But -”

“But we can break the rules on special occasions,” Elinor offers with a soft smile and a wink as she joins them by the door.

It sounds good, and it works in as far as Jason’s dark look lightens somewhat, but knowing Elinor the way she does, it also sounds like a trap. Like those words might come back to bite her on the arse if she’s not quick to dial it back.

“Sometimes we have to make an exception, Jason, like today. We had a lot more people here than would fit around the table, but everyone still had to eat at the same time.”

He shrugs a little. “It makes sense I suppose.”

If she didn’t have her hands full she’d probably give his upper arm a loving pat. “Good lad,” she smiles, tipping her head back in the direction of the kitchen. “Come on.”

They pass more than a few people in the hallway, all of them offering well wishes again on their way out and she realises that starting to tidy up has had the (not altogether terrible) effect of encouraging more people to leave.

Only Fletch remains in the kitchen when they enter, helping himself to the last of her homemade breadsticks as they cover the worktop with dirty dishes.

“I’m gonna get off,” he mumbles through a mouth full of dry food, hitching a thumb over his shoulder. “Still got a full shift to do.”

“Thank you again for coming,” she says into his shoulder as he wraps her in a gentle hug. “I’ll be back next week and I expect my ward to be ship-shape.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” he barks as he steps back, saluting stiffly and then chuckling when she swats him on the arm.

She rolls her eyes and turns away, finds Elinor and Jason each with a cheeky smile and wishes she’d never mentioned Bernie’s profession or rank to anyone. “Get out,” she shouts, snatching up a bottle of red wine and filling a glass as she hides a smile.

“I’m going to go upstairs,” Jason says and she nods.

“Okay, love.”

She takes a long drink as Elinor moves dishes around and runs the hot water.

When someone clears their throat in the doorway, they both turn and Elinor audibly groans.

“Ugh. I’m going to check on the last of the  _ guests _ ,” the girl hisses as she steps around Robbie and disappears. 

“Serena -” he starts, but she just turns away and starts scraping scraps into the bin. “Serena,” he tries again, stepping up behind her. “Can we - can we talk?”

“I’m busy.”

“You don’t have to do that right now.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, then let me help you,” he offers, moving to her side and picking up a plate.

“No thank you,” she sings, snatching it out of his hand. “I can manage just fine by myself.”

He steps away with a heavy sigh and throws his arms out. “So this is it, Serena? You and I are over because of one silly misunderstanding? Our relationship is destroyed because I needed some time to get my head around your... changing circumstances? I am  _ trying _ here.”

“How dare you!” she snaps, turning to face him with a thunderous scowl as her blood boils. “How dare you think I would throw away my family for you. He’s my  _ nephew _ , and you still can’t even say his name.”

“I was stupid,” he whines, rubbing at his forehead. “I know that, but don’t I deserve another chance? I made a terrible mistake and it’s never going to happen again. Please, Serena -”

“No,” she bites, hating how pathetic he sounds and wishing with every fibre of her being that she could be transported to a cabin in the countryside. “Now, I’ve said thank you time and again for everything you’ve done. But we’re just not going to work out, Robbie, so if you don’t mind I’d very much like to spend some time alone with my family... and you can close the front door on your way out.”

She turns back to the worktop and scoops up her wine again. Gulps the last few mouthfuls as her pulse races before slamming the glass back down. She thinks she hears him shuffling out, and breathes out heavily in relief, but then someone suddenly cups her elbow and it makes her jump.

“OH!”

“It’s me,” Elinor squeaks with her hands held out. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she grumbles and the weight of the day pulls her down onto the floor until she comes to rest against a cupboard door. Elinor sinks down to join her as a few tears fall silently and she pats the girl on the thigh as the two lean against each other. “But I will be.”

“Why don’t you call Bernie?” Elinor says sweetly, and she chuckles through her tears, suddenly feeling as pathetic as she’d thought Robbie to be mere minutes ago.

“I’d love to -” she admits, rolling her eyes, “- assuming she doesn’t hate me, that is, but I... I didn’t get her number.”

Elinor snorts a laugh and buries her face in her knees for a moment. “Ugh, mother. You are  _ officially _ ridiculous.” The girl jumps up to her feet and holds both hands out. “Given the circumstances, I’m sure she’ll forgive you for standing her up. Come on,” she says, helping Serena up off the floor. “Seeing as you won’t just knock on her bloody door, Google is going to help us track down your girl.”

“Wait, wait!” Serena objects, pulling away and making Elinor huff in annoyance. But she just grabs the bottle of red and her empty glass before turning back to her daughter. “I’m going to need this.” 

* * *

 

 

**_Monday, January 29, 2018_ **

She runs out into the evening darkness in her black lycra outfit and wooly hat, trying to leave behind the stresses of a bloody and traumatic day.

Sprinting into the park, Bernie completes three laps of the duck pond before it finally feels as if she’s rid of the thing that’s been chasing her since she was paged to the hospital at first light.

From the ward to the trauma bay, and then from theatre to recovery, the spectre of death had seemed to hang in the air. She’d fought it off at least twice since the emergency surgery that had started her day, performing a textbook miracle just after breakfast and then identifying an accidental but potentially lethal mix up of patient files after lunch. 

Yet the feeling had lingered long into the afternoon, following her outside as she’d tried to sneak away for a cigarette, finding her knelt low on wet tarmac over the body of a young man hit by a car. It had clung to her like a shadow, until she was breathless, refusing to leave even as she accepted defeat and tearfully let him go.

When she slows to a walk, there’s no rush or high, just a stitch in her side and an empty hole where euphoria should be. Panting heavily, she stalks along with her hands at her waist, her head hung low and a scowl on her face.

She doesn’t know why it felt so like the universe was deliberately spinning against her today, doesn’t know what she could have done differently. She can only move on, try to focus on the light and let go of the dark.

Bypassing her usual exit, she picks up speed and runs another half lap of the pond. She takes a detour down a long path to a part of Wyvern Village that she’s never explored before, jogs down one street and up the next, over and over until a particular street sign makes her stop.

Holbrook Drive.

She knew this might happen, that she might find her if she headed this way, but knowing doesn’t prevent the nervousness that bubbles inside her belly all of a sudden.

As she walks, she checks every house looking for a sign, looking for something that says  _ Serena _ , but it’s difficult in the dark. In many houses, she sees only the shapes and shadows of people illuminated behind drawn curtains. In others, nothing but the glare of a television reflected in a lounge window. Even the frontages and driveways don’t lend much in the way of clues.

Reaching the last house on the street, she slows to a stop just before the corner and turns to look back with a heavy sigh. There’s a reason she’d talked herself out of doing this sooner, she muses, as she sits on a low wall and turns her face to the stars; it was a silly idea to begin with.

Staring at a green convertible parked in the driveway opposite, she thinks about being stood up, and wonders, not for the first time, if Serena would even want to see her again.

Sitting here like this makes the object she carries dig into her ribs, and so she unzips her jacket half way and retrieves the CD from her inside pocket. She runs a fingertip over a mark on the case, before looking up to stare absently at the car again.

The CD isn’t new anymore - she’s listened to it a hundred times - yet something inside her still wants Serena to have it, and so she pushes off the wall and crosses over, intending to check each house again as she doubles back and heads home.

Something about the green car feels familiar though, she realises, as she gets closer. Like she’s seen it before, around the village perhaps, but it’s the bumper sticker that makes her stop and gulp.

‘ _ World’s Best Surgeon! _ ’ it says, and all she can do is blink as her heart races.

What would be the odds of another surgeon living on Holbrook Drive? Slim to none she’d wager, and yet, with the curtains drawn here too, she still can’t be certain.

She gets as far as pressing her knuckles to the door intending to knock, but then she inhales sharply and shakes her head. How would she explain this? What would she say if a stranger answered the door, or, more terrifyingly, if Serena did?

Dropping her hand, she quickly stuffs the CD back into her pocket, zips up her jacket, and sprints away.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Friday, February 9, 2018_ **

Serena finds her favourite coffee grounds have disappeared yet again. Used up, no doubt, by a daughter who thinks she doesn’t notice every time she helps herself to the specially-blended dark roast.

“Ellie?”

She slams closed the cupboard door, turns off the coffee machine and switches on the kettle. She grabs a mug, a spoon, and the canister of instant, but then sighs hard, because the canister is empty too.

“Ellie!”

With a huff, she snatches a tea bag from a different canister and throws it into the mug. It’s not going to have the caffeine kick she was hoping for, but it’ll do, she muses, as she reaches into the fridge and finds they have no milk.

“ELINOR!” she booms, finally drawing her daughter from the living room into the doorway.

“Mother…?” the girl drawls.

“When I called you from work yesterday afternoon, you said you were on your way to the supermarket.”

Elinor grimaces. “Oh, I, er -”

“We’re out of coffee -” she explains with a snip, opening the cupboard and jabbing a finger at the empty space where an expensive foil packet should be.

“You see, the thing is... Lindsey called and said she was having problems with Paul again, so I met her in town and -”

“And there’s no milk!” she grinds out, thrusting a hand towards the fridge, frustrated by her daughter’s perpetual unreliability and pathetic excuses.

“I’ll go now,” Elinor rushes, clearly more eager to leave the room than she was to enter it. “Where are your car keys?”

“No!” Serena barks, taking out her purse and slapping a fiver into Elinor’s outstretched hand. “You can  _ walk. _ Jason’s already on his way to the newsagents, if you hurry you can catch him before he reaches the high street.”

“But -”

“Go on,” she adds, turning Elinor by the shoulders and ushering her towards the front door as the girl huffs and drags her feet. “Chop chop!”

She turns away as Elinor throws on a coat. Makes her way back towards the kitchen and winces as the front door slams behind her.

At least she’ll have the house to herself for a short time. Time enough to make them all breakfast and to decide how else to enjoy her day off. Time to contemplate, yet again, how she might be received were she to just turn up on Bernie’s doorstep…

She knows she wants to. Every time she’s allowed her mind to wander over the last couple of weeks she’s considered it. But today doesn’t feel like the right time - maybe there’ll never be a right time - or, maybe, if she’d had some exquisitely strong coffee inside her, she’d feel different. Maybe a little more brave.

Maybe tomorrow.

* * *

 

 

Bernie hasn’t been back to Holby Manor Hospice for quite some time.

She doesn’t feel the same pull towards her father’s room like she used to, doesn’t  _ need _ to visit to immerse herself in memories anymore.

She used to think it made her feel less alone to occupy the last place he’d called home. In truth, she knows it only added to her loneliness. She can admit that now, even as the desire to breath in his space persists somewhere deep within her chest.

As she enters and strides across the foyer, it isn’t the only desire she harbours.

“Hello,” she smiles, greeting a receptionist she doesn’t recognise. “Is Sarah on duty today?”

“Nope,” the girl replies, popping the P around a squelching mouth full of gum that makes Bernie recoil. “She’s off. Daughter’s ill.”

“Oh?” she inquires, genuinely concerned. “Nothing serious I hope?”

“No idea,” the woman grumbles with a shrug and Bernie feels the heat of annoyance rise from her neck to her face.

“I see.”

She is most definitely going to mention this interaction to Sarah the next time they see each other, but for now she just clears her throat and tries to ignore the young girl’s apparent lack of empathy and professionalism.

“I was wondering…” she starts, adjusting her satchel with one hand as the fingers of the other play with the CD buried deep within her coat pocket. “Has Adrienne McKinnie’s family been in to see her lately? It’s not important; I just wanted to leave something for -”

“I’m sorry,” the girl cuts in after a moment spent furiously tapping the keyboard. “There’s no Adrienne McKinnie listed here. She must have gone home.”

“Oh,” Bernie breathes as her stomach drops. She’s a little offended that Serena felt unable to meet her to explain, but she sees now why she’d been stood up; Serena’s mother is far more important.  _ She _ understands that better than anyone. Romantic interests always end up at the bottom of a very long list of priorities.

“I think I’ll just go upstairs for a little while,” she says, shucking a thumb over a shoulder that is slumped heavily beneath the weight of disappointment.

“Who are you visiting?” the girl asks, her tone sharp as she shoves an open sign-in book under Bernie’s nose, scraping it along the counter.

“Oh, no, no, no,” she demurs with one palm out. “I just like to sit in my father’s old room, the one that he was in when he was here.”

“Sorry, all the rooms are full. Several new oldies checked in last week.”

“Oh,” Bernie murmurs, tries to gulp down a lump of emotion that creeps up into her throat as her disappointment doubles. “I understand,” she nods, backing away from the reception desk. “Thank you.”

Once outside, she climbs into her car and rests her head and hands on the steering wheel. “Stupid, stupid…” she chides herself, choking the words out through tears that now refuse to be stemmed.

What on earth was she thinking?

Of course her father’s room was bound to become occupied sooner or later. It was as inevitable as the anxiety now tightening her chest. It barely matters that sitting in his room hadn’t been her  _ only _ motive for coming here today, for as soon as the girl had said it wasn’t possible, she’d wanted nothing else.

With a hard sniff and a sigh, she lifts her head and starts the car.

At the very least, she thinks, as her tears subside, she can still visit the one other place where the memories of her father are strongest.

She’s been busy both in work and outside of work lately and today was supposed to be for her; a little break from paperwork, both professional and personal, and she wants to stick to that plan. Doesn’t want to be tied up with builders, decorators, or plumbers either. She’s had enough of those these last few weeks to last a lifetime.

Pulling away from Holby Manor Hospice for what she knows is the final time, and despite the disappointment she felt the last time she was there - though it does seem to be the theme for today - she decides it’s time for coffee and pancakes.

* * *

 

 

“Jason? Jason wait for me!” Elinor calls, hobbling along the path by the duck pond as her cousin continues to stride purposefully ahead.

“No,” he shouts, refusing to slow down. “You have to hurry up.”

“What, why?” she huffs, jogging awkwardly to catch up as he finally stops and turns with a frown.

“Because Auntie Serena forgot to collect the new issues of my magazines and the weatherman said there’s another snowstorm coming.”

“Well I can’t run in these shoes!” she grumbles, gesturing towards her feet.

But he just raises his eyebrows and stuffs his hands in his coat pockets. “If you’d paid better attention to the forecast you could have chosen more appropriate footwear.”

She throws her own hands out and rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t expecting to have to jog through the park today.”

“Why are you following me then?” he asks, his brow scrunched hard once more.

“Ugh…” she groans, “We’re out of milk…” and is unsurprised when he smiles knowingly.

“I did warn you.”

“ _Yes, yes_ ,” she dismisses, hooking his elbow and dragging him forward. “Come on, before your beloved Auntie Serena has my guts for garters!”

* * *

 

 

A car full of yobs has been following her for the last couple of miles, the bass from their stereo pounding so hard it makes her dashboard rattle.

Bernie suspects they wanted to race - and she could have left them for dust if she’d wanted to - but she’d found more satisfaction in slowing down and deliberately halting their progress as they made their way into the centre of town. She will not be goaded by bored teenagers who now think they can intimidate a woman by revving their engine beside her at a red light.

Waiting for the light to turn green, she sees two familiar faces exit the newsagent on the opposite corner. Watches as Jason takes a carrier bag from Elinor and stuffs away several magazines, before handing the girl something that she eagerly tears into as they turn away.

The cross traffic finally stops and the car beside her revs its engine again, prematurely screaming away across the junction before the light has chance to turn green.

Her plan was to turn right, to find a parking space outside Connie’s and order herself a late breakfast, but instead she watches in horror as Elinor steps off the kerb and the car doesn’t stop…

Eyes wide and limbs frozen, time seems to stand still as Bernie sees Jason dart forwards, shoving Elinor aside. Tyres squeal as the girl falls down hard onto the tarmac, and she gasps aloud as Jason is hit with a sickening thud, his flailing body thrown up onto the bonnet and through the air as the car speeds away.

Grabbing her phone, she bolts from the car, abandons it with the engine running and sprints across the road to where Elinor is knelt next to her cousin’s prone form, a bag of milky bar buttons scattered across the road beside her.

“Oh, Bernie, thank god!” the girl cries upon seeing her approach, “That car - it just came out of nowhere -”

She kneels down and gently braces the young man’s head between her palms. “Jason? Jason, can you hear me?”

“Is he okay? Is he going to be okay?” Elinor demands, climbing to her feet and pacing frantically as Bernie dials 999, traps the phone between her ear and shoulder, and tries to assess the damage. “You know what to do, right? She said…  _ Mum said _ ... you’re a doctor just like her -”

Bernie gulps. Trauma surgery may be life-saving, but it can be dirty, too. In the most dire circumstances, it most certainly is not the intricate perfection she knows Serena must have to perform on a daily basis.

“Not like her. Not – not quite -” she says with a brief and distracted shake of her head as the phone connects. 

_ ‘Emergency – which service do you require?’ _

“Ambulance. Outside the Wyvern Arms on Holby High Street. This is St. James Trauma Consultant Bernie Wolfe. I have a twenty-something male hit by a car. He’s unconscious but breathing. Pulse weak. Possible head injury, fractures, and internal bleeding. Can you give me an ETA?”

_ ‘Sending them now. Four minutes.’ _

“Thank you.”

“Tell me you can save him,” Elinor begs tearfully as Bernie tosses the phone away. “That’s – that’s what you do, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s what I do,” she nods, glassy eyed and trembling and trying desperately not to think about her last hit and run victim.

When Jason groans, her breath leaves her all in a rush.

“Jason? Jason,” she says softly, cradling his head once more. “I need you to stay really still for me, okay. It’s Doctor Bernie; do you remember me? Help is coming and you’re going to be fine.”

“Oh, thank god,” Elinor breathes in relief as she stops pacing, pressing a hand over her heart and her phone to her ear.

“Mum! It’s Jason. He got knocked down by a car and we’re waiting for an ambulance -”

“Tell her to meet us at St. James,” Bernie interjects sharply as she catches the first distant wail of emergency sirens.

“- Meet us at St. James -” the girl repeats, but she can hear Serena arguing loudly on the other end.

‘ _ Tell them to bring him to Holby City -’ _

She shakes her head and butts in again. “St. James is closer and there’s a state-of-the-art trauma unit -”

“- It’s closer,” Elinor parrots, one hand worrying at her forehead, “and there’s… just do it, Mum,  _ please _ ?”

‘ _ Okay, fine. I’m on my way!’ _

By the time the ambulance reaches them, Jason is unconscious again and it has started to snow.

* * *

 

 

It’s been a few hours since she left Elinor alone in the family room.

She’d rubbed the girl’s arm tenderly and tried to reassure her that she’d be fine for a few minutes alone until her mother arrived. She’d promised to personally oversee Jason’s care from start to finish, and explained that she’d be performing the surgery that was, unfortunately, rather urgent. She’d felt terrible leaving her and had experienced a painful pang in her chest at the memory of Charlotte calling her from a hospital after Cameron’s car accident several years ago.

She knew precisely how Serena would be feeling and despite wanting to be there for the woman upon arrival it just wasn’t possible, so she’d rushed away to change and scrub in.

She wouldn’t usually bother taking the tie out of her hair after surgery. Once it was up, she’d leave it that way for the rest of the day. But today she finds herself removing it and running her hands through her wavy hair before heading for the family room.

Her pulse picks up upon entry, upon laying eyes on Serena for the first time since their night together, but it skips a beat altogether when Serena stands and steps towards her.

“How is he?”

“He’s going to be fine,” she says softly, gesturing reassuringly with her hands. “We had to repair a liver laceration but everything went well. We got to it just in time -”

“Any other injuries?”

“He received a pretty nasty bump on the head, but his scans are clear. I’ve asked my staff to monitor him closely for the next twenty-four hours just to be safe. There’s nothing broken, just a dislocated shoulder that we popped back in. He’s a very lucky young man.”

Serena steps closer and grasps at her hand. “Thank you, Bernie. Thank you so much.”

“Just doing my job,” she says with a shy smile before pulling away and turning to leave.

“How -” Serena blurts, making her stop and turn back, “Um - How have you been?”

“Good,” she says, folding her arms protectively across her chest because it’s that or let fidgeting fingers betray the nerves that ripple beneath her skin. “I’m good. Fine. You?”

“I’m okay…” Serena nods, her cheeks pinking and her eyes alight with something Bernie can’t name. “I was...  _ hoping _ I’d bump into you at some point.”

Bernie’s eyebrows lift. “Really?”

“Did you go? That Saturday, we were supposed to meet. Did you go for chocolate chip pancakes?”

“Oh,” she murmurs, her damned pride and an indignant streak of self-preservation kicking in. “Actually, I forgot I was scheduled to work and then there was an emergency -”

“Oh.”

Serena seems disappointed and it makes Bernie bristle. Now would be a good time for Serena to open up and explain to her why she wasn’t there. She wouldn’t have taken Serena for someone who liked to play games, but when the silence stretches on, she can’t help herself from asking a little trap of a question.

“Did _ you _ ?”

“I was there,” Serena nods and Bernie’s eyes go wide as her heart thuds in her chest.

“You were? You were there?”

“Yes.”

Bernie is stunned at the lie. “At Connie’s... on the high street... on Saturday?”

There’s a sadness in Serena’s eyes that Bernie wishes wasn’t there, but she can’t help thinking that if Serena had just been upfront with her, the woman perhaps wouldn’t be feeling whatever she’s feeling right now.

“Yes... I got called away, but I was there.”

Bernie lets out a heavy sigh as disappointment settles heavily in her chest. “I have to go.”

“When can I see you again?” Serena asks as Bernie reaches for the door and yanks it open.

“I - I don’t know. I’m very busy.”

“I wanted to call you, but -”

“No, no, I totally understand,” she dismisses with a wave of her hand, half in and half out of the doorway, eager to remove herself from this painfully awkward situation. She doesn’t need her hopes crushed any further. “I really do have to go.”

“Wait, Bernie –” Serena calls, but she just grits her teeth and keeps on walking.


	17. Chapter 17

**_Tuesday, February 13, 2018_ **

Françoise says she’s avoiding her feelings but she disagrees.

For several days Bernie has, admittedly, strategically timed her visits to Jason’s room, made someone else perform his tests, and bribed the ward nurse into monitoring the movements of his visiting relatives, but, as she puts it, she is ‘merely thinking of herself for once’ by ‘minimizing her potential exposure to Serena.’

And, yes, it _might_ have sounded a tad ridiculous the second it left her lips, but it hasn’t stopped her from doing it anyway, from keeping what she considers to be a healthy distance between herself and those in her professional care. She tells herself she can focus more on her work, and yet she still has to rein in a heart that threatens to gallop away every time it spots any short-haired brunette on her ward.

Jolted from her musings by an elbow to the ribs, her eyes are pulled away from a file she’s been staring at but not really seeing for several long minutes.

“What?” she grumbles.

“Coffee run,” says the nurse beside her, his chin jerking in the direction of the exit and she watches from behind a half-open curtain as Serena leaves the ward, purse in hand.

“Thanks,” she mutters, putting away the file and moving quickly towards the side room from which Jason is to be discharged tomorrow.

His recovery has gone as well as could be expected. His latest round of tests are all complete and the results are good. She will have her most senior nurse sign off on all the paperwork in the morning, but first she needs to check on him for herself before leaving to enjoy a couple of days off. It might be hospital policy, but it’s also partly for her own peace of mind.

She hasn’t seen Elinor since the day of the accident, and most certainly isn’t expecting her to be occupying one of the visitor’s chairs when she enters the room.

“Oh, hi,” she says softly, not wanting to disturb Jason who appears to be sleeping. “How’s he doing?”

Elinor uncurls herself from the chair and stands up with a huge smile. “He’s as good as new thanks to you.”

“Oh, I didn’t do much,” she demurs, though it’s true; even with her expert medical skills she’d felt sort of useless until the ambulance arrived. “How are _you_?”

Elinor shrugs. “I was a little shaken up for a while but I’m fine.”

“He was very brave, pushing you out of the way of that car. Your mum must be very proud.”

“Oh, we decided not to tell her,” the girl says, lowering her voice and throwing a furtive glance towards the door. “She’s been through so much with Grandma Adi.”

“How is she?”

Elinor frowns as if confused. “Grandma Adi?”

“Mm-hm,” Bernie nods with a smile.

“Oh she - she died the Saturday after New Year.”

“The Saturday after New Year?...” she whispers to herself, inhaling through a gasp. Her stomach flips and her heart clenches as she thinks of Serena.

_Oh god. Oh god. Oh god._

The pain Serena must have been through these past weeks... Bernie feels it in her gut, feels the distant tendrils of hurt of her own father’s passing come slithering back in.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“It didn’t seem right to tell her,” Elinor continues as she sits back down. “It would only have made her more upset.”

“I understand,” Bernie nods, wringing her hands as she backs away towards the door. “Well, make sure you and your mum get some rest. Jason will still need a little looking after once we let him go home tomorrow.”

“We will,” Elinor grins. “Thank you, Bernie.”

“Bye.” Her eyes sweep over Jason one last time before she leaves the room as quietly as she entered.

Sidling slowly away, she can’t help the smile that creeps its way onto her face, can’t prevent the butterflies that begin to fizz and flutter, filling the painful emptiness low in her stomach at the realisation that all is not lost.

She might have _almost_ messed this up, might have all but given up hope based on incomplete information and faulty assumptions. But she knows now, Serena permitting, she has a chance to fix it.

Because Serena _was_ there, that day at Connie’s.

“She _was_ there.”

* * *

 

**_Wednesday, February 14, 2018_ **

Pushing an empty wheelchair, she skips happily onto a ward peppered with red balloons and streamers. A sickly, sentimental mix of hearts and flowers that her staff had insisted would perk up the patients and insert a little fun into everyone’s day.

She’d been more than happy to miss it, to pretend that a day focused on love and romance didn’t exist as long as she was at home alone. Or out in a remote countryside location, perhaps. Alone. Anything to dodge the fact that she wasn’t seeing anyone, wasn’t seeing Serena like she’d once hoped. But that was before yesterday.

Now there’s a little pep in her step, a little lift that matches the restless, nervous energy that bubbles in her stomach as she approaches the nurses’ station. Even the persistent snow can no longer dampen her mood.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Ms. Wolfe!”

“Same to you, Toni.” She grins at the junior doctor and watches as a deep frown forms on the young woman’s forehead.

“We, er... we thought you were off today?”

“I was. I just had one little thing I needed to do. Do you have the discharge notes for Jason Haynes, please?”

The girl scrambles to locate a manilla folder amidst a sea of other paperwork. On any other day it would definitely be a problem, but today Bernie has other priorities.

Taking the folder, she signs the forms within and hands it back. “Thank you,” she smiles before making a beeline for Jason’s room.

“Good morning,” she offers, setting the wheelchair to one side as Jason sits up excitedly in his bed.

“Doctor Bernie!”

“You’re here,” Serena breathes, her eyes wide, her tone soft and hopeful enough to pull at Bernie’s heart. “They said you weren’t on duty today?”

“Well, I had a special patient,” she smiles, turning to the address the young man directly. “Hello, Jason. Are you feeling fit and ready to go home?”

“Yes,” he states, firm and sure and with a finely executed salute. “I am fit and well and ready to report for duty, sir!”

“Good,” she chuckles, turning to retrieve the wheelchair but finding Elinor already has a hand on it.

“Well, come on,” the girl says, a jerk of her head encouraging Jason to stand and turn as she pushes it behind him and he sits gingerly, one arm in a sling.

They are well prepared, Bernie notes, as Serena places a small duffel bag into Jason’s lap. It’s a good thing she came in early, good that she came in at all, or heaven knows how long they’d have been waiting around for her staff to discharge him.

Knowing Serena, there’d have been merry hell to pay for making her wait. She could just imagine the woman demanding to speak to someone higher up and wonders what it might have been like to have Ric come down here and discharge the boy himself.

A small, wicked part of her looks forward to introducing Mr. Griffin to the formidable Ms. Campbell someday.

“I - um - can we...” She ushers Serena to the side, makes her hang back as Elinor wheels Jason out onto the ward. “I have something for you but it’s in my car.”

Serena’s eyebrows pinch together for a moment, but the woman nods eagerly as Bernie holds her gaze.

“I’ll meet you downstairs at the entrance in five minutes.”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Elinor helps her get Jason comfortable in the passenger seat before the girl climbs in the back. She leaves the engine running and the heater on full, not intending to leave them for very long.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she says and Elinor smirks, offers her an exaggerated wink.

“Take your time.”

Returning to the main entrance, she finds Bernie sporting a very fetching olive green coat. It works wonders for her colouring, such a good contrast to her blonde hair and freckles. She even likes the tan woollen scarf she wears, and yet there’s an odd yearning inside her to see this woman in the cream coat she remembers, to see the Bernie she remembers.

“I thought you said it was in your car?” she says, stepping closer as Bernie holds out something retrieved from her pocket.

Her eyes go wide as a small black velvet box is placed into her hand.

“Open it,” Bernie husks and for a second Serena can’t breathe.

When she lifts the lid, Serena gasps aloud and presses a palm to her chest. Inside the box is a familiar looking necklace. “Where did you find this? It’s exactly like the one I lost in the snow!”

“That _is_ the one you lost in the snow.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” Serena exclaims, watching as Bernie unfurls and removes her scarf to reveal another one hidden beneath it.

“Found this too,” the woman says, producing Serena’s own scarf that she’d left tied to a tree.

There’s a lump in her throat and she can’t speak. Can feel her eyes glistening and is scared to look up for fear of this being either a dream or something that doesn’t mean what she really hopes it means...

“Come on,” Bernie says, giving her a gentle nudge before striding away across the carpark.

“Where are you going?” Serena calls after a short pause, following along in a bit of a panic like this woman might disappear again if she doesn’t keep a close eye.

Stopping beside a silver sports car, Bernie opens the passenger door and gestures for Serena to climb in. “I have something else to show you.”

“But I can’t just leave -” she argues, gesturing in the direction of where she left Ellie and Jason in her own vehicle as her phone signals a text message.

“It won’t take long,” Bernie insists, but Serena busies herself with retrieving her phone from her bag and reading a message from her daughter.

**_**_Taking Jason home in your car. See if you can get someone to give you a lift. ;o)_ **  _**

“Are you coming?” Bernie calls and when she looks up she finds the woman already occupying the driver’s seat despite the passenger door still hanging open.

“Like I have a choice,” she huffs, climbing in and belting up. “They left without me!”

“Don’t worry, they’ll be fine.” Bernie starts the car and drives them out of the carpark. “I’ll drop you off at home after we’re done.”

“I see you had the sense to trade in that ridiculous car,” Serena says, impressed by the quality of Bernie’s new vehicle and all too aware that she may have just pushed, albeit good-naturedly, a very sensitive button.

“Oh, I didn’t trade it,” Bernie drawls, turning to her with an eyebrow raised in amusement. “I still _have_ the totally ridiculous car. It’s just a bit impractical for this kind of weather.”

Serena nods slowly, impressed again; this time by Bernie’s recollection of words she once used against her in frustration, and also by the woman’s commitment to her father’s memory. She can’t begrudge her that, not now that she knows how it feels to revere everything her mother had ever touched.

A comfortable silence settles between them as Bernie drives them out of the city and through the snow covered countryside. There are many things Serena wants to say, but nothing provides a suitable opening and she just can’t find the courage.

Bernie has so clearly been avoiding her, been blowing hot and cold - mostly cold - since Jason’s accident that she doesn’t want to put herself out there and get rejected. Doesn’t want to ask where they’re going or what the surprise might be for fear of being disappointed.

But then Bernie sucks in a big breath and says, “I have a confession to make -”

“Ooh, another one?!” Serena snarks, sharp and fast and with a tiny smile as Bernie seems to ignore it and ploughs on.  

“- I _was_ there... that Saturday... at Connie’s. I waited for you. I ordered the pancakes and I _waited_ , but -”

“I _wanted_ to call you,” Serena blurts, twisting in her seat to face Bernie as her heart swells with hope. “I wanted to knock on your door or - or write you a letter, I just - there was never a good time.”

“It’s okay,” Bernie says, holding her eye with a soft gaze as a hand gently strokes her knee.

The touch gives her goosebumps. And makes her brave.

“I thought about you a lot,” Serena confesses, feeling a warmth spread over her when Bernie grins in response. She thinks the blonde might say something, but then the car starts to skid and Bernie turns away in a panic.

“Oh god!” she breathes, holding onto the door for dear life and bracing herself as the car spins out of control.

There’s a great puff of exploding snow as they careen off the side of the road, coming to a stop with a rough jolt.

Serena breathes hard, her heart racing as she turns back to Bernie in shock. “Is this some kind of joke?!”

Putting the car in reverse, Bernie grumbles under her breath as the engine revs but the car fails to move. “I can’t believe this happened again!”

Stunned at the turn of events, Serena folds her arms and shakes her head. “I had nothing to do with it this time!”

“You stay in the car,” Bernie says with a tut, unbuckling her seatbelt and starting to climb out. “I’ll go for help.”

“No,” Serena barks, grabbing her bag and climbing out too. “Y _ou_ stay in the car! _I_ have responsibilities.” She swipes her furry hat from inside her bag and pulls it on, anger fueling her stride as she promptly stomps away. “I have a nephew at home _WHO NEEDS ME_!” she shouts, wrapping the scarf Bernie returned around her neck and tucking it into her coat.

The conditions aren’t quite as severe as the last time they were out this way, but it’s still bloody cold. She wants to be angry at Bernie alone, after all, the driver should have been paying better attention to the road, but she can admit she’s partly responsible for the distraction and is as equally angry with herself for ending up in this situation.

They walk for ten minutes in tense silence, until Serena spots something in the distance.

It is a little cabin.

“Ohhhh...” she coos fondly, “I’ve tried to find my way back here but I’ve always gotten lost.”

“Huh,” Bernie responds with a little shrug, making her way ahead of Serena up the path to the front door. “I’ve spent some time here recently.”

“Really?” Serena stops and takes stock of how different it looks since she was here last.

Unlike the surrounding land, the path has been cleared of snow. The cabin looks... cleaner, somehow, as if it’s had a new coat of paint, and there’s already a plume of nice-smelling wood smoke rising up into the sky from the chimney.

“If you’ve stranded us here on purpose, it was a waste of time,” she snarks, folding her arms and cocking her hips. “It looks like Alex and Robin are home.”

But Bernie steps right up to the front door anyway. “Maybe Howard and Millie will let us in to warm up?”

“You can’t barge in on people!” she complains, cringing as the other woman knocks loudly. “We mustn’t interrupt, Bernie!”

The blonde closes her hands around her eyes as she peers in through a window. “They might be happy to see us.”

“They’re probably afraid to answer the door,” Serena mumbles under her breath as she turns away. However she thought this meeting was going to go, this isn’t it, and when she turns back around the woman has vanished.

“Bernie?”

The sound of breaking glass from somewhere around the back of the cabin makes her flinch. It makes her eyes go wide and her jaw drop as she wonders what on earth is going on. She wouldn’t have taken Bernie for someone so reckless and impulsive, well, not since learning her true vocation anyway, not since spending one special night discovering the real Bernie and falling -

The front door is suddenly yanked open from the inside and she turns with a start to find the smiling blonde.

“Where are Alex and Robin?”

“ _Howard and Millie_ moved to Cornwall,” Bernie says, casually removing her scarf and unbuttoning her coat. “It turns out they were thinking of selling it anyway, so I bought it.”

“You bought it?!” Serena steps inside, shell-shocked, and Bernie nods before closing the door.

“It’s just for emergencies. In case I ever got stranded again.” Bernie hangs up her coat and helps Serena to take off hers too as she gawps at the new, modern interior.

It’s remarkable. Gone is the dingy wood panelling and seventies orange, replaced with natural tones and warm light everywhere. Even the log ladder that she’d considered some kind of torture device or death trap is no more, a sturdy-looking but minimalist metal staircase in its place.

The sainted aroma of strong coffee reaches her nose as dark eyes search for the source of the soft jazz she can hear playing, until she discovers a small cd player sitting on the sideboard that wasn’t there the last time.

She turns to Bernie - unsure of what to say, but overwhelmed with feelings and hot with how much she understands Bernie’s apparent attachment to this place - and finds the woman leaning back against the door, nervous hands clasped in front.

“I needed you to see it, needed you to know that even though it was awkward, last time, when you - when we were here -”

“Bernie -”

“It’s just...” she starts, but she doesn’t finish.

And she doesn’t have to, because Serena can see it written all over her face - the fear and the yearning. It only takes a half step to get closer, close enough to give in to the pull and kiss Bernie with everything she’s got.

When they part, Bernie’s bright smile matches the one she can feel spread across her own face.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks -” Bernie husks, her hot breath pricking at Serena’s skin and taunting every nerve ending.

“Ever since you rescued me?”

“No, no,” Bernie dismisses with a firm shake of her head.

Serena leans in as Bernie reaches a hand to caress her cheek and any notion of going home soon is chased away by the stirring, hopeful butterflies in her stomach.

“It was _you_ , Serena... who rescued _me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, readers! My heartfelt thanks to you for following along with this fic!


End file.
